





























f€ 'V? - | V-v ° Jpsgg. r '\r<£‘ 

P/ #X \m9/ <^ v \ 

S?A| V* .- -afe ; /|S&* i 

’ ~v v K o YKT v /Ov y\ „ ^v'r; ; # * vi. 


<-*r 

P< 



o *-***-,Vt> ^A*®***# V o°- 


6 «■ *■ 
*>cr « 


H®? ; ^lii^ *°v ^ 

:-■ 44 *♦ : >^ oso0 >°^ 1 °X^>i * * ,' 

V A: 44 &feY V75jtt 

<£? ^ ?.fz^lW«> 0^-^. o llSil? O .^'^k iffi! 


. - JM ’ 

V^4^ v \\^>^\' 

W, \V 1 ' $4*S& V * * '^**likr* 

j- «y n ^ o\^P^s' *• 0M>S* 

: * 2* « ‘’s&iiil * tp « wmfr » 


‘o>* > ^ 

V<V* o 


r/Zh> + ^ A <T ^Vv -f o * aaflTfr,'** o s 

mZn* # n <y oJ$§mk+ K 0m&J* *> -v 

* S5 « * f*S ° a * S v 


\ *lll|fi <^V 1 
i 

* vf „ St 


\\ 4^4*°* 

; Xp<£ :jl 


f c 


•J 
$ 

■ 4fN /> *» c* 

c! 

V ;4ife; <w 

° v°<i 


@* -TP ‘fifK. ov ~ «fg » '/-o 
5? * «52* t 0 Jy°<U t * (AO, 

44 * * >\ % °444 

■* 481': 44 /^K° /A‘ 

</*bt° * l '*^ V c° K0 «, < ^' t * *\$^« l *»«^l£' 0 * K ‘*l 

I; V /‘^'•^° •*^*: %/ 

S'® <£2$ ‘fiills'o *p-A. 

v * «^ ° /jdSfe' * \ Jr fatitibh 

= ^W- .1* SlKi: *? Jii 


y*. rf? • 

j z > ' ^ i* vTV *» 

A l&H: Si, :Wmi .it : 


’ i fSTmT* vAo 9 * 

X - *”«“>°’. . * & 

fcfc* ^ .0? yji&pA>\ ^> ^JTJKQ. 5fc> ’ 


>oko»».o ,; v/- * 


> 



^Oj, 

& 



^ *o. 










h 


Brara Stoker 


mt 


Garden Cn v New York 
DOUBLE DAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
1920 


Copyright, 1 397, in the United States of America, according to Act 

of Congress, by Foam Stoker. 


[JU ri^hls rtstTQidX 


TO 

MY DEAR FRIEND 

HOMMY-BEG 


V 














How these papers have been placed in sequence will be made 
manifest in the reading of them. All needless matters have 
been eliminated, so that a history almost at variance with 
the possibilities of later-day belief may stand forth as simple 
fact. There is throughout no statement of past things 
wherein memory may err, for all the records chosen are ex- 
actly contemporary, given from the standpoints and within 
the range of knowledge of those who made them. « 

































































































, 













































































































CONTENTS 


Chapter I. 

Page. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal ..... l 

Chapter II. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 15 

Chapter III. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 28 

Chapter IV. 

Jonathan Harkens Journal 41 

Chapter V. 

Letters— Lucy and Mina 55 

Chapter VI. 

Mina Murray’s Journal 64 

Chapter VII. 

Cutting from “The Dailygraph,” 8 August 77 

Chapter VIII. 

Mina Murray's Journal 91 

Chapter IX. 

Mina Mts/ray’s Journal w6 

vii 


viii Contents 

Chapter X. 

Page. 

Mina Murray’s Journal * 20 

Chapter XI. 

Lucy Westenra’s Diary *34 

Chapter XII. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary.. 146 

Chapter XIII. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 163 

Chapter XIV. 

Mina Harker’s Journal 179 

Chapter XV. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary. 194 

Chapter XVI. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 208 

Chapter XVII. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 219 

Chapter XVIII. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 232 

Chapter XIX. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal .. 248 

Chapter XX. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 261 

Chapter XXI. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 275 


Contents ix 

Chapter XXII. 

Page. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal 289 

Chapter XXIII. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 302 

Chapter XXIV. 

Dr. Seward’s Phonograph Diary, spoken by Van Helsing 315 

Chapter XXV. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary * 329 

Chapter XXVI. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary 344 

Chapter XXVII. 

Mina Harker’s Journal 361 r* 

. . . k *yp - - - 



DRACULA 


CHAPTER I 

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL 

(Kept in shorthand.) 

3 May. Bistriz . — Left Munich at 8 :35 p. m., on 1st May, 
arriving at Vienna early next morning ; should have arrived 
at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a 
wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the 
train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared 
to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and 
would start as near the correct time as possible. The im- 
pression I had was that we were leaving the West and en- 
tering the East ; the most western of splendid bridges over 
the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us 
among the traditions of Turkish rule. 

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to 
Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel 
Royale. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done 
up some way with red pepper, which was very good but 
thirsty. {Mem., get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, 
and he said it was called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was 
a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along 
the Carpathians. I found my smattering of German very 
useful here; indeed, I don’t know how I should be able to 
get on without it. 

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I 
had visited the British Museum, and made search among the 
books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it 
had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could 
hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a noble- 
man of that country. I find that the district he named is in thr 
(1) * 


2 


Dracula 


extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three 
states, Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst of 
the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least 
known portions of Europe, i was not able to light on any 
map or work giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, 
as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with 
our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, 
the post town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well- 
known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as they 
may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with 
Mina. 

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct 
nationalities : Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the 
Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians ; Magyars 
in the West, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going 
among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and 
the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered 
the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns 
settled in it. I read that every known superstition in the 
world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as 
if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool ; 
if so my stay may be very interesting. {Mem., I must ask 
the Count all about them.) 

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable 
enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a 
dog howling all night under my window, which may have 
had something to do with it ; or it may have been the paprika, 
for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was 
still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened 
by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must 
have been sleeping soundly then. I had for breakfast more 
paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they 
said was “mamaliga,” and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, 
a very excellent dish, which they call “impletata.” {Mem., 
get recipe for this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the 
train started a little before eight, or rather it ought to have 
done so, for after rushing to the station at 7 130 I had to sit 
in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to 
move. It seems to me that the further east you go the more 
unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China ? 

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country 
which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw 
little towns or castles on the top of steep hills such as we see 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 3 

in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers and streams 
which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side of 
them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, 
and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river 
clear. At every station there were groups of people, some- 
times crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some of them were 
just like the peasants at home or those I saw coming through 
France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats arid 
home-made trousers ; but others were very picturesque. The 
women looked -pretty, except when you got near them, but 
they were very clumsy about the waist. They had all full 
white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of them had 
big belts with a lot of strips of something fluttering from 
them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there were pet- 
ticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were 
the Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with 
their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, 
white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly 
a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore 
high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had 
long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very 
picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage 
they would be set down at once as some old Oriental band of 
brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and 
rather wanting in natural self-assertion. 

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, 
which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on 
the frontier — for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Buko- 
vina — it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly 
shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires 
took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occa- 
sions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century 
it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, 
the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and 
disease. 

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone 
Hotel, which I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly 
old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of 
the ways of the country. I was evidently expected, for when 
I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman 
in the usual peasant dress — white undergarment with long 
double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting al- 
most too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed, 


Dracula 


4 

and said, “The Herr Englishman ?” “Yes,” 1 said, “Jonathan 
Harker.” She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly 
man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the 
door. He went, but immediately returned with a letter : — 

“My Friend. — Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anx- 
iously expecting you. Sleep well to-night. At three to- 
morrow the diligence will start for Bukovina ; a place on it is 
kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you 
and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from 
London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your 
stay in my beautiful land. 

“Your friend, 

“Dracula.” 

4 May . — I found that my landlord had got a letter from 
the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the 
coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he 
seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not 
understand my German. This could not be true, because up 
to then he had understood it perfectly ; at least, he answered 
my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old 
lady who had received me, looked at each other in a fright- 
ened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been 
sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him 
if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his 
castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying 
that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak fur- 
ther. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time 
to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by 
any means comforting. 

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my 
room and said in a very hysterical way: 

“Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?” She 
was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her 
grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with 
some other language which I did not know at all. I was just 
able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told 
her tha f I must go at once, and that I was engaged on im- 
portant business, she asked again : 

“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was 
the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again : 

“Oh, yes ! I know that ! I know that but do you know wha$ 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 5 

day it is?” On my saying that I did not understand, she 
went on: 

“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that 
to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things 
in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you 
are going, and what you are going to?” She was in such 
evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without ef- 
fect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me 
not to go ; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It 
was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. How- 
ever, there was business to be done, and I could allow noth- 
ing to interfere with it. I therefore tried to raise her up, and 
said, as gravely as I could, that I thanked her, but my duty 
was imperative, and that I must go. She then rose and dried 
her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to 
me. I did not know what to do, for, as an English Church- 
man, I have been taught to regard such things as in some 
measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to re- 
fuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind. 
She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the 
rosary round my neck, and said, “For your mother’s sake,” 
and went out of the room. I am writing up this part of the 
diary whilst I am waiting for the coach, which, is, of course, 
late; and the crucifix is still round my neck. Whether it is 
the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this 
place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not 
feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book 
should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good- 
bye. Here comes the coach ! 

5 May. The Castle . — The grey of the morning has 
passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which 
seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is 
so far off that big things and little are mixed. I am not 
sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I 
write till sleep comes. There are many odd things to put 
down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too 
well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner ex- 
actly. I dined on what they call “robber steak” — bits of 
bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung 
on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple style of the 
London cat’s meat! The wine was Golden Mediasch, which 
produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not 


6 Dracula 

disagreeable. I had only a couple of glasses of this, and 
nothing else. 

When I got on the coach the driver had not taken his seat, 
and I saw him talking with the landlady. They were evi- 
dently talking of me, for every now and then they looked at 
me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench 
outside the door — which they call by a name meaning “word- 
bearer” — came and listened, and then looked at me, most of 
them pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, 
queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd ; 
so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and 
looked them out. I must say they were not cheering to me, 
for amongst them were “Ordog” — Satan, “pokol” — hell, 
“stregoica” — witch, “vrolok” and “vlkoslak” — both of which 
mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Ser- 
vian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire. 
{Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions.) 

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which 
had by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made the 
sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me. With 
some difficulty I got a fellow-passenger to tell me what they 
meant ; he would not answ'er at first, but on learning that I 
was English he explained that it was a charm or guard 
against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me, 
just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown 
man ; but every one seemed so kind-hearted, and so sorrow- 
ful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be touched. I 
shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn- 
yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing them- 
selves, as they stood round the wide archway, with its back- 
ground of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green 
tubs clustered in the centre of the yard. Then our driver, 
whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of the 
box-seat — “gotza” they call them — cracked his big whip over 
his four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on 
our journey. 

I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the 
beauty of the scene as we drove along, although had I known 
the language, or rather languages, which my fellow-passen- 
gers were speaking, I might not have been able to throw 
them off so easily. Before us lay a green sloping land full of 
forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned 
with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable 


Jonathan HarkerY Journal 7 

end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass 
of fruit blossom — apple, plum, pear, cherry; and as we 
drove by I could see the green grass under the trees span- 
gled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green 
hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road, 
losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut 
out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which here and 
there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road 
was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a fever- 
ish haste. I could not understand then what the haste meant, 
but the driver was evidently bent on losing no time in reach- 
ing Borgo Prund. I was told that this road is in summer- 
time excellent, but that it had not yet been put in order after 
the winter snows. In this respect it is different from the 
general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is an old tra- 
dition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of old 
the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the Turk should 
think that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, 
and so hasten the war which was always really at loading 
point. 

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose 
mighty slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpa- 
thians themselves. Right and left of us they towered, with 
the afternoon sun falling full upon them and bringing out all 
the glorious colours of this beautiful range, deep blue and 
purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where 
grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged 
rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the 
distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and 
there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, 
as the sun began to sink, we saw now and again the white 
gleam of falling water. One of my companions touched my 
arm as we swept round the base of a hill and opened up the 
lofty, snow-covered peak of a mountain, which seemed, as we 
wound on our serpentine way, to be right before us : — 

“Look ! Isten szek !”■ — “God’s seat !” — and he crossed him- 
self reverently. 

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank 
lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the even- 
ing began to creep round us. This was emphasised by 
the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the sunset, 
and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and 
there we passed Cszeks and Slovaks, all in picturesque at* 


8 


Dracula 


tire, but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By 
the roadside were many crosses, and as we swept by, my 
companions all crossed themselves. Here and there was a 
peasant man or woman kneeling before a shrine, who did not 
even turn round as we approached, but seemed in the self- 
surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the 
outer world. There were many things new to me: for in- 
stance, hay-ricks in the trees, and here and there very beau- 
tiful masses of weeping birch, their white stems shining like 
silver through the delicate green of the leaves. Now and 
again we passed a leiter-wagon- — the ordinary peasant’s cart 
• — with its long, snake-like vertebra, calculated to suit the ine- 
qualities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a 
group of home-coming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, 
and the Slovaks with their coloured, sheepskins, the latter 
carrying lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. 
As the evening fell it began to get very cold, and the grow- 
ing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness the 
gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine, though in the valleys 
which ran deep between the spurs of the hills, as we as- 
cended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and 
there against the background of late-lying snow. Some- 
times, as the road was cut through the pine woods that 
seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us, great 
masses of greyness, which here and there bestrewed the 
trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect, which 
carried on the thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier 
in the evening, when the falling sunset threw into strange 
relief the ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians 
seem to wind ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes 
the hills were so steep that, despite our driver’s haste, the 
horses could only go slowly. I wished to get down and walk 
up them, as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of 
it. “No, no,” he said ; “you must not walk here ; the dogs 
are too fierce and then he added, with what he evidently 
meant for grim pleasantry — for he looked round to catch 
the approving smile of the rest — “and you may have enough 
of such matters before you go to sleep.” The only stop he 
would make was a moment’s pause to light his lamps. 

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement 
amongst the passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one 
after the other, as though urging him to further speed. He 
lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and with 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 9 

wild cries of encouragement urged them on to further exer- 
tions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of patch 
of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the 
hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the 
crazy coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed 
like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold on. The 
road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then 
the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side and 
to frown down upon us; we were entering on the Borgo 
Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, 
which they pressed upon me with an earnestness which would 
take no denial; these were certainly of an odd and varied 
kind, but each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly 
word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of fear-mean- 
ing movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz 
— the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye. 
Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned forward, and on 
each side the passengers, craning over the edge of the coach, 
peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that some- 
thing very exciting was either happening or expected, but 
though I asked each passenger, no one would give me the 
slightest explanation. This state of excitement kept on for 
some little time ; and at last we saw before us the Pass open- 
ing out on the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds 
overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thun- 
der. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated 
two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunder- 
ous one. I was now myself looking out for the convey- 
ance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I 
expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness: 
but all was dark. The only light was the flickering rays of 
our own lamps, in which the steam from our hard-driven 
horses rose in a white cloud. We could now see the sandy 
road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of 
a vehicle. The passengers drew back with a sigh of glad- 
ness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I was 
already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, look- 
ing at his watch, said to the others something which I could 
hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone ; 
I thought it was “An hour less than the time.” Then turn- 
ing to me, he said in German worse than my own : — 

“There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected 
after all. He will now come on to BukQv|na t and return to- 


IO 


Dracula 


morrow or the next day; better the next day.” Whilst he 
was speaking the horses began to neigh and snort and plunge 
wildly, so that the driver had to hold them up. Then, 
amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a uni- 
versal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, 
drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the 
coach. I could see from the flash of our lamps, as the rays 
fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and splendid 
animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown 
beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face 
from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright 
eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as he turned to us. 
He said to the driver : — 

“You are early to-night my friend.” The man stammered 
in reply: — 

“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger 
replied : — 

“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Buko- 
vina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, 
and my horses are swift.” As he spoke he smiled, and the 
lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips 
and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my com- 
panions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Le- 
nore :” — 

“Denn die Todten reiten schnell” — 

(“For the dead travel fast.”) 

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked 
up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face 
away, at the same time putting out his two fingers and cross- 
ing himself. “Give me the Herr’s luggage,” said the driver ; 
and with exceeding alacrity my bags were handed out and 
put in the caleche. Then I descended from the side of the 
coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver helping 
me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel ; his 
strength must have been prodigious. Without a word he 
shook his reins, the horses turned, and we swept into the 
darkness of the Pass. As I looked back I saw the steam 
from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and 
projected against it the figures of my late companions cross- 
ing themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called 
to his horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina. 
As they sank into the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a 
lonely feeling_came over me ; but a cloak was thrown over 


II 


Jonathan Marker's Journal 

my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the driver said 
in excellent German: — 

“The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count 
bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz 
(the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you 
should require it.” I did not take any, but it was a comfort 
to know it was there all the same. I fqlt a little strangely, 
and not a little frightened. I think had there been any al- 
ternative I should have taken it, instead of prosecuting that 
unknown night journey. The carriage went at a hard pace 
straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along 
another straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply 
going over and over the same ground again ; and so, I took 
note of some salient point, and found that this was so. I 
would have liked to have asked the driver what this all 
meant, but I really feared to do so, for I thought that, placed 
as I was, any protest would have had no effect in case there 
had been an intention to delay. By-and-by, however, as I 
was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a match, 
and by its flame looked at my watch; it was within a few 
minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for 1 
suppose the general superstition about midnight was in- 
creased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feel- 
ing of suspense. 

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far 
down the road — a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear. 
The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another 
and another, till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly 
through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed to 
come from all over the country, as far as the imagination 
could grasp it through the gloom of the night. At the first 
howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver 
spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shiv- 
ered and sweated as though after a run-away from sudden 
fright. Then, far off in the distance, from the mountains on 
each side of us began a louder and a sharper howling — that 
of wolves — which affected both the horses and myself in the 
same way — for I was minded to jump from the caleche and 
run, whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that 
the driver had to use all his great strength to keep them 
from bolting. In a few minutes, however, my own ears got 
accustomed to the sound, and the horses so far became quiet 
that the driver was able to descend and to stand before them. 


12 


Dracula 


He petted and soothed them, and whispered something in 
their ears, as I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with 
extraordinary effect, for under his caresses they became 
quite manageable again, though they still trembled. The 
driver again took his seat, and shaking his reins, started off 
at a great pace. This time, after going to the far side of the 
Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow roadway which ran 
sharply to the right. 

Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places 
arched right over the roadway till we passed as through a 
tunnel; and again great frowning rocks guarded us boldly 
on either side. Though we were in shelter, we could hear 
the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled through the 
rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as we 
swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and fine, pow- 
dery snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us 
were covered with a white blanket. The keen wind still car- 
ried the howling of the dogs, though this grew fainter as we 
went on our way. The baying of the wolves sounded nearer 
and nearer, as though they were closing round on us from 
every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the horses shared 
my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least dis- 
turbed ; he kept turning his head to left and right, but I 
could not see anything through the darkness. 

Suddenly, away on our left, I saw a faint flickering blue 
flame. The driver saw it at the same moment; he at once 
checked the horses and, jumping to the ground, disappeared 
into the darkness. I did not know what to do, the less as 
the howling of the wolves grew closer ; but while I wondered 
the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a word took 
his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have 
fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed 
to be repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a 
sort of awful nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near 
the road, that even in the darkness around us I could watch 
the driver’s motions. He went rapidly to where the blue 
flame arose — it must have been very faint, for it did not seem 
to illumine the place around it at all — and gathering a few 
stones, formed them into some device. Once there appeared 
a strange optical effect : when he stood between me and the 
flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker 
all the same. This startled me, but as the effect was only 
momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining 


Jonathan Harkens Journal 13 

through the darkness. Then for a time there were no blue 
flames, and we sped onwards through the gloom, with the 
howling of the wolves around us, as though they were fol- 
lowing in a moving circle. 

At last there came a time when the driver went further 
afield than he had yet gone, and during his absence the 
horses began to tremble worse than ever and to snort and 
scream with fright. I could not see any cause for it, for the 
howling of the wolves had ceased altogether; but just then 
the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared behind 
the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its light 
I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and loll- 
ing red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. 
They were a hundred times more terrible in the grim silence 
which held them than even when they howled. For myself, 
I felt a sort of paralysis of fear. It is only when a man feels 
himself face to face with such horrors that he can under 
stand their true import. 

All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moon- 
light had had some peculiar effect on them. The horses 
jumped about and reared, and looked helplessly round with 
eyes that rolled in a way painful to see ; but the living ring 
of terror encompassed them on every side, and they had per- 
force to remain within it. I called to the coachman to come, 
for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break 
out through the ring and to aid his approach. I shouted and 
beat the side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to scare the 
wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching 
the trap. How he came there, I know not, but I heard his 
voice raised in a tone of imperious command, and looking 
towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway. As he 
swept his long arms, as though brushing aside some impal- 
pable obstacle, the wolves fell back and back further still. Just 
then a heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so 
that we were again in darkness. 

When I could see again the driver was climbing into the 
caleche, and the wolves had disappeared. This was all so 
strange and uncanny that a dreadful fear came upon me, and 
I was afraid to speak or move. The time seemed intermina- 
ble as we swept on our way, now in almost complete dark- 
ness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon. We kept on 
ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in 
the main always ascending. Suddenly I became conscious of 


>4 


Dracula 


the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the 
horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose 
tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken 
battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky. 


CHAPTER XI 

Jonathan harker’s journal — continued. 

5 May . — I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had 
been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a 
remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of 
considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under 
great round arches it perhaps seemed bigger than it really 
is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight. 

When the caleche stopped the driver jumped down, and 
held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not 
but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed 
like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had 
chosen. Then he took out my traps, and placed them on the 
ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and 
studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting door- 
way of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that 
the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had 
been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the 
driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins; the 
horses started forward, and trap and all disappeared down 
one of the dark openings. 

I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what 
to do. Of bell or knocker there was no sign ; through these 
frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely 
that my voice could penetrate. The time I waited seemed 
endless", and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. 
What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of 
people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I 
had embarked? Was this a customary incident in the life 
of a solicitor’s clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a 
London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor’s clerk! Mina 
would not like that. Solicitor, — for just before leaving Lon- 
don I got word that my examination was successful ; and I 
am now a full-blown solicitor ! I began to rub my eyes and 
pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a 
horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should sud- 

i5 


Dracula 


16 

denly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn Strugs 
gling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt 
in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh an- 
swered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be de- 
ceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. 
All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming 
of the morning. 

Just as I had come to this conclusion I heard a heavy step 
approaching behind the great door, and saw through the 
chinks the gleam of a coming light. Then there was the 
sound of rattling chains and the clanking of massive bolts 
drawn back. A key was turned with the loud grating noise 
of long disuse, and the great door swung back. 

Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long 
white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, with- 
out a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in 
his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned 
without chimney or globe of any kind, throwing long quiv- 
ering shadows as it flickered in the draught of the open door. 
The old man motioned me in with his right hand with a 
courtly gesture, saying in excellent English, but with a 
strange intonation : — 

“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own 
will !” He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood 
like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him 
into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over 
the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding 
out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me 
wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it 
seemed as cold as ice — more like the hand of a dead than a 
living man. Again he said: — 

“Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and 
leave something of the happiness you bring !” The strength 
of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had no- 
ticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a mo- 
ment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I 
was speaking ; so to make sure, I said interrogatively : — 

“Count Dracula?” He bowed in a courtly way as he re- 
plied : — 

“I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to 
my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must 
need to eat and rest.” As he was speaking he put the lamp 
on a bracket on the wall, and stepping out, took my luggage ; 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 17 

he had carried it in before I could forestall him. I protested 
but he insisted • 

“Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are 
not available. Let me see to your comfort my self.” He in- 
sisted on carrying my traps along the passage, and then up 
a great winding stair, and along another great passage, on 
whose stone floor our steps rang heavily. At the end of this 
he threw open a heavy door, and I rejoiced to see within a 
well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper, and on 
whose mighty hearth a great fire of logs, freshly replenished, 
flamed and flared. 

The Count halted, putting down my bags, closed the door, 
and crossing the room, opened another door, which led into 
a small octagonal room lit by a single lamp, and seemingly 
without a window of any sort. Passing through this, he 
opened another door, and motioned me to enter. It was a 
welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted 
and warmed with another log fire, — also added to but lately 
for the top logs were fresh — which sent a hollow roar 
up the wide chimney. The Count himself left my luggage 
inside and withdrew, saying, before he closed the door: — 

“You will need, after your journey, to refresh yourself by 
making your toilet. I trust you will find all you wish. When 
you are ready come into the other room, where you will find 
your supper prepared.” 

The light and warmth and the Count’s courteous welcome 
seemed to have dissipated all my doubts and fears. Having 
then reached my normal state, I discovered that I was half 
famished with hunger ; so making a hasty toilet, I went into 
the other room. 

I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on 
one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, 
made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said : — 

“I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, 
I trust, excuse me that I do not join you ; but I have dined 
already, and I do not sup.” 

I handed to him the sealed letter which Mr. Hawkins had 
entrusted to me. He opened it and read it gravely; then, 
with a charming smile, he handed it to me to read. One 
passage of it, at least, gave me a thrlH of pleasure : 

“I much regret that an attack of gout, from which malady 
I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling 
on my part for some time to come ; but I am happy to say I 
U) 


Dracula 


18 

can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every 
possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and 
talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He 
is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my 
service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will 
during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all mat- 
ters/’ 

The Count himself came forward and took off the cover of 
a dish, and I fell to at once on an excellent roast chicken. 
This, with some cheese and a salad and a bottle of old Tokay, 
of which I had two glasses, was my supper. During the time 
I was eating it the Count asked me many questions as to my 
journey, and I told him by degrees all I had experienced. 

By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host’s 
desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a 
cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing him- 
self that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of ob- 
serving him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy. 

His face was a strong — a very strong — aquiline, with high 
bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils ; with 
lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the 
temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very 
massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair 
that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far 
as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and 
rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth ; these 
protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed 
astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his 
ears were pale and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin 
was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The 
general effect was one of extraordinary pallor. 

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay- 
on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather 
white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could 
not but notice that they were rather coarse — broad, with 
squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre 
of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a 
sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands 
touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been 
that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea 
came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal. 
The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back; and with a 
grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet don© 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 19 

his protuberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own 
side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while ; and 
as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak 
of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over 
everything ; but as I listened I heard as if from down below 
in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count’s eyes 
gleamed, and he said : — 

“Listen to them — the children of the night. What music 
they make !” Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face 
strange to him, he added : — 

“Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the 
feelings of the hunter.” Then he rose and said : — 

“But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and 
to-morrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be 
away till the afternoon; so sleep well and dream well!” 
With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to 
the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom. . . . 

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think 
strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul. 
God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me ! 

7 May . — It is again early morning, but I have rested and 
enjoyed the last twenty-four hours. I slept till late in the 
day, and awoke of my own accord. When I had dressed 
myself I went into the room where we had supped, and 
found a cold breakfast laid out, with coffee kept hot by the 
pot being placed on the hearth. There was a card on the ta- 
ble, on which was written : — 

“I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. — < 
D.” I set to and enjoyed a hearty meal. When I had 
done, I looked for a bell, so that I might let the servants 
know I had finished; but I could not find one. There are 
certainly odd deficiencies in the house, considering the ex- 
traordinary evidences of wealth which are round me. The 
table service is of gold, and so beautifully wrought that it 
must be of immense value. The curtains and upholstery 
of the chairs and sofas and the hangings of my bed are of 
the costliest and most beautiful fabrics, and must have been 
of fabulous value when they were made, for they are centu- 
ries old, though in excellent order. I saw something like 
them in Hampton Court, but there they were worn and 
frayed and moth-eaten. But still in none of the rooms is 
there a mirror. There is not even a toilet glass on my table. 


20 


Dracula 


and I had to get the little shaving glass from my bag be-* 
fore I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet 
seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle 
except the howling of wolves. Some time after I had finished 
my meal — I do not know whether to call it breakfast or din- 
ner, for it was between five and six o’clock when I had it — I 
looked about for something to read, for I did not like to go 
about the castle until I had asked the Count’s permission. 
There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper, 
or even writing materials; so I opened another door in the 
room and found a sort of library. The door opposite mine 
I tried, but found it locked. 

In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number 
of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound voh 
umes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre 
was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though 
none of them were of very recent date. The books were of 
the most varied kind — history, geography, politics, political 
economy, botany, geology, law — all relating to England and 
English life and customs and manners. There were even 
such books of reference as the London Directory, the “Red” 
and “Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, the Army and Navy 
Lists, and — it somehow gladdened my heart to see it — the 
Law List. 

Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and 
the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and 
hoped that I had had a good night’s rest. Then he went 
on : — 

“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there 
is much that will interest you. These companions” — and 
he laid his hand on some of the books — “have been good 
friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the 
idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours 
of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great 
England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go 
through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be 
in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its 
life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. 
But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. 
To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.” 

“But, Count,” I said, “you know and speak English thor- 
oughly !” He bowed gravely. 

“I thank you, my friend, for your all too flattering esti- 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal z\ 

mate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I 
would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, 
but yet I know not how to speak them.” 

“Indeed,” I said, “you speak excellently.” 

“Not so,” he answered. “Well I know that, did I move 
and speak in your London, none there are who would not 
know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here 
I am noble ; I am boyar ; the common people know me, and I 
am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one ; 
men know him not — and to know not is to care not for. I 
am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he 
see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, ‘Ha, 
ha ! a stranger !’ I have been so long master that I would be 
master still — or at least that none other should be master of 
me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter 
Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in 
London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so 
that by our talking I may learn the English intonation ; and 
I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the 
smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away 
so long to-day ; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so 
many important affairs in hand.” 

Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked 
if I might come into that room when I chose. He answered : 
“Yes, certainly,” and added : — 

“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except 
where the doors are locked, where of course you will not 
wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, 
and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, 
you would perhaps better understand.” I said I was sure of 
this, and then he went on : — 

“We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not Eng- 
land. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you 
many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of 
your experiences already, you know something of what 
strange things there may be.” 

This led to much conversation ; and as it was evident that 
he wanted to talk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him 
many questions regarding things that had already happened 
to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off 
the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to 
understand; but generally he answered all I asked most 
frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat 


22 


Dracula 


bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the pre- 
ceding night, as, for instance, why the coachman went to the 
places where he had seen the blue flames. He then ex- 
plained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain 
night of the year — last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are 
supposed to have unchecked sway — a blue flame is seen over 
any place where treasure has been concealed. “That treasure 
has been hidden,” he went on, “in the region through which 
you came last night, there can be but little doubt ; for it was 
the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the 
Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in 
all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of 
men, patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring 
times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in 
hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them — men and 
women, the aged and the children too — and waited their 
coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep 
destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When 
the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever 
there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil.” 

“But how,” said I, “can it have remained so long undis- 
covered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take 
the trouble to look ?” The Count smiled, and as his lips ran 
back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out 
strangely ; he answered : — 

“Because your peasant is at heart a cow r ard and a fool! 
Those flames only appear on one night ; and on that night no 
man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. 
And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. 
Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the 
place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight 
even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be 
sworn, be able to find these places again ?” 

“There you are right,” I said. “I know no more than the 
dead where even to look for them.” Then we drifted into 
other matters. 

“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the 
house which you have procured for me.” With an apology 
for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the pa- 
pers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them- in order I 
heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as 
I passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and 
the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The 


Jonathan Harker’ s Journal 23 

lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the 
Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, 
an English Bradshaw’s Guide. When I came in he cleared 
the books and papers from the table; and with him I went 
into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was inter- 
ested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about 
the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied be- 
forehand all he could get on the subject of the neighbor- 
hood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than 
I did. When I remarked this, he answered : — 

“Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? 
When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker 
Jonathan — nay, pardon me, I fall into my country’s habit of 
putting your patronymic first — my friend Jonathan Harker 
will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in 
Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law 
with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!’’ 

We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of 
the estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got 
his signature to the necessary papers, and had written a let- 
ter with them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to 
ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to 
him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I in- 
scribe here : — 

“At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place 
as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapi- 
dated notice that the place was for sale. It is surrounded by 
a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and 
has not been repaired for a large number of years. The 
closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with 
rust. 

“The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the 
old Quatre Face , as the house is four-sided, agreeing with 
the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some 
twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above 
mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in 
places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or 
small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is 
clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is 
very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediaeval 
times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a 
few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks 
like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. 


Dracula 


24 

I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading 
to it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views 
of it from various points. The house has been added to, but 
in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount 
of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are 
but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house 
only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asy- 
lum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.” 

When I had finished, he said : — 

“I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old 
family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house 
cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few 
days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a 
chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to 
think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I 
seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of 
much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young 
and gay. I am no longer young; and my heart, through 
weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to 
mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the 
shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the 
broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the 
shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may.” 
Somehow his words and his look did not seem to accord, or 
else it was that his cast of face made his smile look malig- 
nant and saturnine. 

Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all 
my papers together. He was some little time away, and I 
began to look at some of the books around me. One was an 
atlas, which I found opened naturally at England, as if that 
map had been much used. On looking at it I found in cer- 
tain places little rings marked, and on examining these I 
noticed that one was near London on the east side, manifestly 
where his new estate was situated ; the other two were Ex- 
eter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. 

It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned, 
“Aha!” he said; “still at your books? Good! But you 
must not work always. Come; I am informed that your 
supper is ready.” He took my arm, and we went into the 
next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the 
table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined 
out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the 
previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 25 

smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with 
me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable sub- 
ject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late 
indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation 
to meet my host’s wishes in every way. I was not sleepy, 
as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me ; but I could not 
help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the com* 
ing of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the 
tide. They say that people who are near death die generally 
at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any 
one who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, ex- 
perienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. 
All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up with pre- 
ternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; Count 
Dracula, jumping to his feet, said: — 

“Why, there is the morning again ! How remiss I am to 
let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation 
regarding my dear new country of England, less interesting, 
so that I may not forget how time flies by us,” and, with • 
courtly bow, he quickly left me. 

I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there 
was little to notice ; my window opened into the courtyard, 
all I could see was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I 
pulled the curtains again, and have written of this day. 

8 May . — I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was 
getting too diffuse*; but now I am glad that I went into 
detail from the first, for there is something so strange about 
this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish 
I were safe out of it, or that I had never come. It may be 
that this strange night-existence is telling on me ; but would 
that that were all ! If there were any one to talk to I could 
bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak 
with, and he ! — I fear I am myself the only living soul within 
the place. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be ; it will 
help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with 
me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand 
— or seem to. 

I only slept a few hours when I went to bed, and feeling 
that I could not sleep any more, got up. . I had hung my 
shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning to 
shave. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard 
the Count’s voice saying to me, “Good-morning.” I started, 


26 


Dracula 


for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the 
reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. 
In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at 
the moment. Having answered the Count’s salutation, 1 
turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. 
This time there could be no error, for the man was close 
to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there 
was no reflection of him in the mirror! The whole room 
behind me was displayed; but there was no sign of a man 
in it, except myself. This was startling, and, coming on the 
top of so many strange things, was beginning to increase that 
vague feeling of uneasiness which I always have when the 
Count is near ; but at the instant I saw that the cut had bled 
a little, and the blood was trickling over my chin. I laid 
down the razor, turning as I did so half round to look for 
some sticking plaster. When the Count saw my face, his 
eyes blazed with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly 
made a grab at my throat. I drew away, and his hand 
touched the string of beads which held the crucifix. It made 
an instant change in him, for the fury passed so quickly that 
I could hardly believe that it was ever there. 

“Take care,” he said, “take care how you cut yourself. It 
it more dangerous than you think in this country.” Then 
seizing the shaving glass, he went on: “And this is the 
wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bau- 
ble of man’s vanity. Away with it !” and opening the heavy 
window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out 
the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pidces on the 
stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew with- 
out a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am 
to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shav- 
ing-pot, which is fortunately of metal. 

When I went into the dining-room, breakfast was pre- 
pared ; but I could not find the Count anywhere. So I 
breakfasted alone. It is strange that as yet I have not seen 
the Count eat or drink. He must be a very peculiar man! 
After breakfast I did a little exploring in the castle. I went 
out on the stairs and found a room looking towards the 
South. The view was magnificent, and from where I stood 
there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on 
the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from 
the window would fall a thousand feet without touching any- 
thing! As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree* 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 27 

tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. 
Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in 
deep gorges through the forests. 

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had 
seen the view I explored further ; doors, doors, doors every- 
where, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the 
windows in the castle walls is there an available exit. 

The castle is a veritable prison, and I am a prisoner l 


CHAPTER III 

Jonathan harker's journal — continued 

When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling 
came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying 
every door and peering out of every window I could find; 
but after a little the conviction of my helplessness overpow- 
ered all other feelings. When I look back after a few hours 
I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved 
much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the convic- 
tion had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly — 
as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life — and 
began to think over what was best to be done. I am think- 
ing still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of 
one thing only am I certain ; that it is no use making my 
ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am impris- 
oned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his 
own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him 
fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will 
be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my 
eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, 
by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if 
the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get 
through. 

I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the 
great door below shut, and knew that the Count had re- 
turned. He did not come at once into the library, so I went 
cautiously to my own **oom and found him making the bed. 
This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along 
thought — that there were no servants in the house. When 
later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door 
laying the table in the dining-room, I was assured of it ; for 
if he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof 
that there is no one else to do them. This gave me a fright, 
for if there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the 
Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought 
me here. This is a terrible thought ; for if so, what does it 
mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 29 

holding up his hand in silence. How was it that all the 
people at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for 
me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, 
of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, 
good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck ! for it is 
a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is 
odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with 
disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness 
and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in the 
essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible 
help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? 
Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try 
to make up my mind about it. In the meantime I must 
find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may help me to 
understand. To-night he may talk of himself, if I turn the 
conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, 
not to awake his suspicion. 

Midnight . — I have had a long talk with the Count. I 
asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he 
warmed up to the subject wonderfully. In his speaking of 
things and people, and especially of battles, he spoke as if 
he had been present at them all. This he afterwards ex- 
plained by saying that to a boyar the pride of his house and 
name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their 
fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always 
said “we,” 'and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speak- 
ing. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he said 
it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in 
it a whole history of the country. He grew excited as he 
spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great white 
moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands 
as though he would crusn it by main strength. One thing he 
said which I shall put down as nearly as I can ; for it tells 
in its way the story of his race : — 

“We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins 
flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion 
fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European 
races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting 
spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Ber- 
serkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Eu- 
rope, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples though* 
that the were wolves themselves had come. Here. too. when 


Dracula 


3 ° 

they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had 
swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held 
that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, 
expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the 
desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever 
so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins ?” He held 
up his arms. “Is it a wonder that we were a conquering 
race ; that we were proud ; that when the Magyar, the Lom- 
bard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands 
on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that 
when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian 
fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier; 
that the Honfoglalas was completed there? And when the 
Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed 
as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries 
was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay 
and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, 
as the Turks say, ‘water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.’ Who 
more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations received 
the ‘bloody sword,’ or at its warlike call flocked quicker to 
the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great 
shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of 
the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Cres- 
cent, who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode 
crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? 
This was a Dracula indeed ! Woe was it that his own un- 
worthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the 
Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it 
not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race 
who in a later age again and again brought his forces over 
the great river into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten 
back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to 
come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being 
slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately 
triumph? They said that he thought only of himself. Bah ! 
what good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the 
war without a brain and heart to conduct it ? Again, when, 
after the battle of Mohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, 
we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our 
spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young 
sir, the Szekelys — and the Dracula as their heart’s blood, 
their brains, and their swords — can boast a record that mush- 
room growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 31 

never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too pre- 
cious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace ; and the 
glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.” 

It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. 
(Mem. this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the 
“Arabian Nights,” for everything has to break off at cock- 
crow — or like the ghost of Hamlet’s father.) 

1 2 May . — Let me begin with facts — bare, meagre facts, 
verified by books and figures, and of which there can be no 
doubt. I must not confuse them with experiences which will 
have to rest on my own observation, or my memory of them. 
Last evening when the Count came from his room he began 
by asking me questions on legal matters and on the doing of 
certain kinds of business. I had spent the day wearily over 
books, and, simply to keep my mind occupied, went over 
some of the matters I had been examined in at Lincoln’s 
Inn. There was a certain method in the Count’s inquiries, 
so I shall try to put them down in sequence ; the knowledge 
may somehow or some time be useful to me. 

First, he asked if a man in England might have two solici- 
tors or more. I told him he might have a dozen if he 
wished, but that it would not be wise to have more than 
one solicitor engaged in one transaction, as only one could 
act at a time, and that to change would be certain to 
militate against his interest. He seemed thoroughly to un- 
derstand, and went on to ask if there would be any practical 
difficulty in having one man to attend, say, to banking, and 
another to look after shipping, in case local help were needed 
in a place far from the home of the banking solicitor. I 
asked him to explain more fully, so that I might not by any 
chance mislead him, so he said: — 

“I shall illustrate. Your friend and mine, Mr. Peter 
Hawkins, from under the shadow of your beautiful cathedral 
at Exeter, which is far from London, buys for me through 
your good self my place at London. Good ! Now here let 
me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I have 
sought the services of one so far ofif from London instead of 
some one resident there, that my motive was that no local 
interest might be served save my wish only; and as one of 
London resident might, perhaps, have some purpose of him- 
self or friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, 
whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, suppose 


Dracula 


32 

I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to New- 
castle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that 
it could with more ease be done by consigning to one in 
these ports ?” I answered that certainly it would be most 
easy, but that we solicitors had a system of agency one for 
the other, so that local work could be done locally on instruc • 
tion from any solicitor, so that the client, simply placing him- 
self in the hands of one man, could have his wishes carried 
out by him without further trouble. 

“But,” said he, “I could be at liberty to direct myself. Is 
it not so ?” 

“Of course,” I replied; “and such is often done by men 
of business, who do not like the whole of their affairs to be 
known by any one person.” 

“Good !” he said, and then went on to ask about the means 
of making consignments and^the forms to be gone through, 
and of all sorts of difficulties which might arise, but by fore- 
thought could be guarded against. I explained all these 
things to him to the best of my ability, and he certainly left 
me under the impression that he would have made a won- 
derful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think 
of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and 
who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his 
knowledge and acumen were wonderful. When he had 
satisfied himself on these points of which he had spoken, and 
I had verified all as well as I could by the books available, he 
suddenly stood up and said : — 

“Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. 
Peter Hawkins, or to any other?” It was with some bitter- 
ness in my heart that I answered that I had not, that as yet 
I had not seen any opportunity of sending letters to anybody. 

“Then write now, my young friend,” he said, laying a 
heavy hand on my shoulder ; “write to our friend and to any 
other ; and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with 
me until a month from now.” 

“Do you wish me to stay so long?” I asked, for my heart 
grew cold at the thought. 

“I desire it much ; nay, I will take no refusal. When your 
master, employer, what you will, engaged that some one 
should come on his behalf, it was understood that my needs 
only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not 
so?” 

What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Haw 1 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 33 

kins’s interest, not mine, and I had to think of him, not my- 
self ; and besides, which Count Dracula was speaking, there 
was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me re- 
member that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could 
have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and 
his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once 
to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way: — 

“I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not dis- 
course of things other than business in your letters. It will- 
doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and 
that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not 
so?” As he spoke he handed me three sheets of note-paper 
and three envelopes. They were all of the thinnest foreign 
post, and looking at them, then at him, and noticing his quiet 
smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red under- 
lip, I understood as well as if he had spoken that I should be 
careful what I wrote, for he would be able to read it. So I 
determined to write only formal notes now, but to write fully 
to Mr. Hawkins in secret, and also to Mina, for to her I 
could write in shorthand, which would puzzle the Count, if 
he did see it. When I had written my two letters I sat quiet, 
reading a book whilst the Count wrote several notes, refer- 
ring as he wrote them to some books on his table. Then he 
took up my two and placed them with his own, and put by 
his writing materials, after which, the instant the door had 
closed behind him, I leaned over and looked at the letters, 
which were face down on the table. I felt no compunction 
in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should 
protect myself in every way I could. 

One of the letters was directed to Samuel F. Billington, 
No. 7, The Crescent, Whitby, another to Herr Leutner, 
Varna; the third was to Coutts & Co., London, and the 
fourth to Herren Klopstock & Billreuth, bankers, Buda- 
Pesth. The second and fourth were unsealed. I was just 
about to look at them when I saw the door-handle move. I 
sank back in my seat, having just had time to replace the 
letters as they had been and to resume my book before the 
Count, holding still another letter in his hand, entered the 
room. He took up the letters on the table and stamped them 
carefully, and then turning to me, said : — 

“I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do 
in private this evening. You will, I hope, find all things as 

(Z) 


34 Dracula 

you wish.” At the door he turned, and after a moment’s 
pause said : — 

“Let me advise you, my dear young friend — nay, let me 
warn you with all seriousness, that should you leave these 
rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other 
part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and 
there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be 
warned ! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like 
to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for 
your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in 
this respect, then” — He finished his speech in a gruesome 
way, for he motioned with his hands as if he were washing 
them. I quite understood ; my only doubt was as to whether 
any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible 
net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing round me. 

Later . — I endorse the last words written, but this time 
there is no doubt in question. I shall not fear to sleep in any 
place where he is not. I have placed the crucifix over the 
head of my bed — I imagine that my rest is thus freer from 
dreams; and there it shall remain. 

When he left me I went to my room. After a little while, 
not hearing any sound, I came out and went up the stone 
stair to where I could look out towards the South. There 
was some sense of freedom in the vast expanse, inaccessible 
though it was to me, as compared with the narrow darkness 
of the courtyard. Looking out on this, I felt that I was in- 
deed in prison, and I seemed to want a breath of fresh air, 
though it were of the night. I am beginning to feel this 
nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. 
I start at my own shadow, and am full of all sorts of horrible 
imaginings. God knows that there is ground for my terrible 
fear in this accursed place ! I looked out over the beautiful 
expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was almost 
as light as day. In the soft light the distant hills became 
melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of velvety 
blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer me; there 
was peace and comfort in every breath I drew. As I leaned 
from the window my eye was caught by something moving a 
storey below me, and somewhat to my left, where I imagined, 
from the order of the rooms, that the windows of the Count’s 
own room would look out. The window at which I stood 
was tall and deep, stone-mullioned, and though weather^ 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 35 

worn, was still complete; but it was evidently many a day 
since the case had been there. I drew back behind the stone- 
work, and looked carefully out. 

What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the 
window. I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the 
neck and the movement of his back and arms. In any case 
I could not mistake the hands which I had had so many op- 
portunities of studying. I was at first interested and some- 
what amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will in- 
terest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my 
very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the 
whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to 
crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face 
down with his cloak spreading out around him like great 
wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it 
was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of 
shadow ; but I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I 
saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the stones, 
worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus 
using every projection and inequality move downwards with 
considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall. 

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature 
is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this hor- 
rible place overpowering me ; I am in fear — in awful fear — 
and there is no escape for me ; I am encompassed about with 
terrors that I dare not think of 

15 May . — Once more have I seen the Count go out in his 
lizard fashion. He moved downwards in a sidelong way, 
some hundred feet down, and a good deal to the left. He 
vanished into some hole or window. When his head had 
disappeared I leaned out to try and see more, but without 
avail — the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of 
sight. I knew he had left the castle now, and thought to use 
the opportunity to explore more than I had dared to do as 
yet. I went back to the room, and taking a lamp, tried all 
the doors. They were all locked, as I had expected, and the 
locks were comparatively new ; but I went down the stone 
stairs to the hall where I had entered originally. I found I 
could pull back the bolts easily enough and unhook the great 
chains; but the door was locked, and the key was gone! 
That key must be in the Count’s room ; I must watch should 
his door be unlocked, so that I may get it and escape. I 


Dracula 


3 6 

went on to make a thorough examination of the various 
stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from 
them. One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but 
there was nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty 
with age and moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one 
door at the top of the stairway which, though it seemed to be 
locked, gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder, and 
found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance 
came from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and 
the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an oppor- 
tunity which I might not have again, so I exerted myself, 
and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. 
I was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than 
the rooms I knew and a storey lower down. From the win- 
dows I could see that the suite of rooms lay along to the 
south of the castle, the windows of the end room looking 
out both west and south. On the latter side, as well as to 
the former, there was a great precipice. The castle was built 
on the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it was 
quite impregnable, and great windows were placed here 
where sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach, and conse- 
quently light and comfort, impossible to a position which 
had to be guarded, were secured. To the West was a great 
valley, and then, rising far away, great jagged mountain 
fastnesses, rising peak on peak, the sheer rock studded with 
mountain ash and thorn, whose roots clung in cracks and 
crevices and crannies of the stone. This was evidently the 
portion of the castle occupied by the ladies in bygone days, 
for the furniture had more air of comfort than any I had 
seen. The windows were curtainless, and the yellow moon- 
light, flooding in through the diamond panes, enabled one 
to see even colours, whilst it softened the wealth of dust 
which lay over all and disguised in some measure the 
ravages of time and the moth. My lamp seemed to be of 
little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was glad to have 
it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the place 
which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble. Still, 
it was better than living alone in the rooms which I had 
come to hate from the presence of the Count, and after try- 
ing a little to school my nerves, I found a soft quietude 
come over me. Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where 
in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much 
thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love-letter, and writ- 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 37 

ing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened since I 
closed it last. It is nineteenth century up-to-date with a 
vengeance. And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old 
centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere 
“modernity” cannot kill. 

Later: the Morning of 16 May . — God preserve iny sanity, 
for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety 
are things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but 
one thing to hope for: that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I 
be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely it is madden- 
ing to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this hate- 
ful place the Count is the least dreadful to me ; that to him 
alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst 
I can serve his purpose. Great God ! merciful God ! Let 
me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed. I be- 
gin to get new lights on certain things which have puzzled 
me. Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare 
meant when he made Hamlet say : — 

“ My tablets ! quick, my tablets ! 

* Tis meet that I put it down,” etc., 

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or 
as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I 
turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accu- 
rately must help to soothe me. 

The Count’s mysterious warning frightened me at the 
time; it frightens me more now when I think of it, for in 
future he has a fearful hold upon me. I shall fear to doubt 
what he may say! 

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately re- 
placed the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The 
Count’s warning came into my mind, but I took a pleasure 
in disobeying it. The sense of sleep was upon me, and with 
it the obstinacy which sleep brings as outrider. The soft 
moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a 
sense of freedom which refreshed me. I determined not to 
return to-night to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep 
here, where of old ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet 
lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk 
away in the midst of remorseless wars. I drew a great 
couch out of its place near the corner, so that, as I lay, I 
could look at the lovely view to east and south, and unthink- 


Dracula 


•38 

in g of and uncaring for the dust, composed myself for sleep. 
I suppose I must have fallen asleep ; I hope so, but I fear, 
for all that followed was startlingly real — so real that now, 
sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I can- 
not in the least believe that it was all sleep. 

I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in 
any way since I came into it ; I could see along the floor, in 
the brilliant moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I 
had disturbed the long accumulation of dust. In the moon- 
light opposite me were three young women, ladies by their 
dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be 
dreaming when I saw them, for, though the moonlight was 
behind them, they threw no shadow on the floor. They came 
close to me and looked at me for some time, and then whis- 
pered together. Two were dark, and had high aquiline 
noses, like the Count, and great dark, piercing eyes, that 
seemed to be almost red when contrasted with the pale yel- 
low moon. The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great 
wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. 1 
seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in con- 
nection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at 
the moment how or where. All three had brilliant white 
teeth, that shone like pearls against the ruby of their volup- 
tuous lips. There was something about them that made 
me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly 
fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they 
would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note 
this down, lest some day it should meet Mina’s eyes and 
cause her pain ; but it is the truth. They whispered together, 
and then they all three laughed — such a silvery, musical 
laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have 
come through the softness of human lips. It was like the in- 
tolerable, tingling sweetness of water-glasses when played 
on by a cunning hand. The fair girl shook her head co- 
quettishly, and the other two urged her on. One said : — 
“Go on ! You are first, and we shall follow ; yours is the 
right to begin.” The other added : — 

“He is young and strong ; there are kisses for us all.” I 
lay quiet, looking out under my eyelashes in an agony of 
delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent 
over me till I could feel the movement of her breath upon 
me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and. sent the 
same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 39 

bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one 
smells in blood. 

I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw 
perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, 
and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate 
voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and 
as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an 
animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining 
on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the 
white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the 
lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed 
about to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could 
hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth 
and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then 
the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when 
the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer — nearer. I 
could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super- 
sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp 
teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in 
a languorous ecstacy and waited — waited with beating heart. 

But at that instant another sensation swept through me as 
quick as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the 
Count, and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As 
my eyes opened involuntarily I saw his strong hand grasp 
the slender neck of the fair woman and with giant’s power 
draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the white 
teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red 
with passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such 
wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His eyes 
were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, 
as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them. His face 
was deathly pale, and the lines of it were hard like drawn 
wires; the thick eyebrows that met over the nose now 
seemed like a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a fierce 
sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him, and then 
motioned to the others, as though he were beating them 
back; it was the same imperious gesture that I had seen 
used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and al- 
most in a whisper seemed to cut through the air and then 
ring round the room as he said : — 

“How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you 
cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it ? Back, I tell you 
all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle 


4 o 


Dracula 


with him, or you’ll have to deal with me.” The fair girl, 
with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him : — 

“You yourself never loved; you never love!” On this 
the other women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless 
laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint 
to hear; it seemed like the pleasure of fiends. Then the 
Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and said 
in a soft whisper : — 

“Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the 
past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I 
am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go ! 
go ! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done.” 

“Are we to have nothing to-night?” said one of them, with 
a low laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown 
upon the floor, and which moved as though there were some 
living thing within it. For answer he nodded his head. 
One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If my 
ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as 
of a half-smothered child. The women closed round, whilst 
I was aghast with horror ; but as I looked they disappeared, 
and with them the dreadful bag. There was no door near 
them, and they could not have passed me without my notic- 
ing. They simply seemed to fade into the rays of the moon- 
light and pass out through the window, for I could see out- 
side the dim, shadowy forms for a moment before they en- 
tirely faded away. 

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down uncon- 
scious. 


CHAPTER IV 

Jonathan harker's journal — continued 

I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the 
Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself 
on the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable 
result. To be sure, there were certain small evidences, such 
as that my clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which 
was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am 
rigourously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going 
to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, 
for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as 
usual, and, from some cause or another, I had certainly been 
much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I am 
glad : if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed 
me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets 
are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery 
to him which he would not have brooked. He would have 
taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room, although 
it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, 
for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, 
who were — who are — waiting to suck my blood. 

1 8 May . — I have been down to look at that room again in 
daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the 
doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had 
been so forcibly driven against the iamb that part of the 
woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of the 
lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the 
inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this sur- 
mise. 

19 May . — I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count 
asked me in the suavest tones to write three letters, one say- 
ing that my work here was nearly done, and that I should 
start for home within a few days, another that I was starting 
on the next morning from the time of the letter, and the third 
that I had left the castle and arrived at Bistritz. I would 

4T 


Dracula 


42 

fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things 
it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst 
I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to 
excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that 
I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be danger- 
ous to him ; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. 
Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. 
I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which 
was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He 
explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that 
my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; 
and he assured me with so much impressiveness that he 
would countermand the later letters, which would be held 
over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of 
my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been 
to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with 
his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the let- 
ters. He calculated a minute, and then said: — 

“The first should be June 12, the second June 19, and the 
third June 29.” * 

I know now the span of my life. God help me! 

28 May . — There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of 
being able to send word home. A band of Szgany have 
come to the castle, and are encamped in the courtyard. These 
Szgany are gipsies ; I have notes of them in my book. They 
are peculiar to this part of the world, though allied to the 
ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands of 
them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside 
all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble 
or boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are fearless 
and without religion, save superstition, and they talk only 
their own varieties of the Romany tongue. 

I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them 
to have them posted. I have already spoken them through 
my window to begin acquaintanceship. They took their 
hats off and made obeisance and many signs, which, how- 
ever, I could not understand any more than I could their 
spoken language 

I have written the letters. Mina’s is in shorthand, and I 
simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her 
l have explained my situation, but without the horrors which 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 43 

I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten her to 
death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the letters 
not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the 
extent of my knowledge 

I have given the letters ; I threw them through the bars of 
my window with a gold piece, and made what signs I could 
to have them posted. The man who took them pressed them 
to his heart and bowed, and then put them in his cap. I could 
do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to read. 
As the Count did not come in, I have written here 

The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in 
his smoothest voice as he opened two letters: — 

“The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know 
not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!” 
— he must have looked at it — “one is from you, and to my 
friend Peter Hawkins ; the other” — here he caught sight of 
the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark 
look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly — “the 
other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospi- 
tality ! It is not signed. Well ! so it cannot matter to us.” 
And he calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the 
lamp till they were consumed. Then he went on : — 

“The letter to Hawkins — that I shall, of course, send on, 
since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your par- 
don, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will 
you not cover it again ?” He held out the letter to me, and 
with a courteous bow handed me a clean envelope. I could 
only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he went 
out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute 
later I went over and tried it, and the door was locked. 

When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into 
the room ; his coming wakened me, for I had gone to sleep on 
the sofa. He was very courteous and very cheery in his 
manner, and seeing that I had been sleeping, he said : — 

“So, my friend, you are tired ? Get to bed. There is the 
surest rest. I may not have the pleasure to talk to-night, 
since there are many labours to me; but you will sleep, I 
pray.” I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange 
to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. 

31 May . — This morning when I woke I thought I would 
provide myself with some paper and envelopes from my bag 


Dracula 


44 

and keep them in my pocket, so that I might write in case I 
should get an opportunity; but again a surprise, again a 
shock ! 

Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, 
my memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of 
credit, in fact all that might be useful to me were I once out- 
side the castle. I sat and pondered a while, and then some 
thought occurred to me, and I made search of my portman- 
teau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes. 

The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my 
overcoat and rug; I could find no trace of them anywhere. 
This looked like some new scheme of villainy. . . . 

1 7 June .— This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of 
my bed cudgelling my brains, I heard without a cracking of 
whips and pounding and scraping of horses’ feet up the 
rocky path beyond the courtyard. With joy I hurried to the 
window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiter-wag- 
ons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of 
each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great, nail-studded 
belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their 
long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend 
and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought 
that way might be opened for them. Again a shock: my 
door was fastened on the outside. 

Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked 
up at me stupidly and pointed, but just then the “hetman” of 
the Szgany came out, and seeing them pointing to my win- 
dow, said something, at which they laughed. Henceforth no 
effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised entreaty, would 
make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. 
The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with han- 
dles of thick rope; these were evidently empty by the ease 
with which the Slovaks handled them, and by their resonance 
as they were roughly moved. When they were all unloaded 
and packed in a great heap in one corner of the yard, the 
Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting 
on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse’s head. Shortly 
afterwards I heard the cracking of their whips die away in 
the distance. 

24 June , before morning . — Last night the Count left me 
early, and locked himself into his own room. As soon as X 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 45 

dared I ran up the winding stair, and looked out of the win- 
dow, which opened south. I thought I would watch for the 
Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are 
quartered somewhere in the castle, and are doing work of 
some kind. I know it, for now and then I hear a far-away, 
muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, 
it must be the end of some ruthless villainy. 

I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, 
when I saw something coming out of the Count’s window. 
I drew back and watched carefully, and saw the whole man 
emerge. It was a new shock to me to find that he had on the 
suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here, and 
slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the 
women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, 
and in my garb, too ! This, then, is his new scheme of evil : 
that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he 
may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns 
or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness 
which he may do shall by the local people be attributed to 
me. 

It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst 
I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that pro- 
tection of the law which is even a criminal’s right and conso- 
lation. 

I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and for a 
long time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to no- 
tice that there were some quaint little specks floating in the 
rays of the moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of 
dust, and they whirled round and gathered in clusters in a 
nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense of sooth- 
ing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the 
embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could en- 
joy more fully the aerial gambolling. 

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of 
dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden 
from my sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and 
the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to the sound 
as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling 
to awake to some call of my instincts ; nay, my very soul was 
struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striv- 
ing to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised ! Quicker 
and quicker danced the dust; the moonbeams seemed to 
quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom bevond. 


Dracula 


46 

More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim 
phantom, shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in 
full possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the 
place. The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually 
materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the three 
ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt 
somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no moon- 
light and where the lamp was burning brightly. 

When a couple of hours had passed I heard something 
stirring in the Count’s room, something like a sharp wail 
quickly suppressed ; and then there was silence, deep, awful 
silence, which chilled me. With a beating heart, I tried the 
door ; but I was locked in my prison, and could do nothing. 
I sat down and simply cried. 

As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without — the 
agonised cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and 
throwing it up, peered out between the bars. There, indeed, 
was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her hands over 
her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning 
against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at 
the window she threw herself forward, and shouted in a 
voice laden with menace : — 

“Monster, give me my child !” 

She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, 
cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then 
she tore her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself 
to all the violences of extravagant emotion. Finally, she 
threw herself forward, and, though I could not see her, I 
could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door. 

Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard 
She voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. 
His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the 
howling of wolves. Before many minutes had passed a pack 
of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, through 
the wide entrance into the courtyard. 

‘There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the 
wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away sin- 
gly, licking their lips. 

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of 
her child, and she was better dead. 

What shall I do ? what can I do ? How can I escape from 
this dreadful thrall of night and gloom and fear? 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 47 

25 June , morning . — No man knows till he has suffered 
from the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye 
the morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morn- 
ing that it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my 
window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if 
the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from 
me as if it had been a vapourous garment which dissolved in 
the warmth. I must take action of some sort whilst the 
courage of the day is upon me. Last night one of my post- 
dated letters went to post, the first of that fatal series which 
is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the earth. 

Let me not think of it. Action ! 

It has always been at night-time that I have been molested 
or threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have 
not yet seen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he 
sleeps when others wake, that he may be awake whilst they 
sleep? If I could only get into his room! But there is no 
possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me. 

Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his 
body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen 
him myself crawl from his window ? Why should not I imi- 
tate him, and go in by his window? The chances are des- 
perate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. 
At the worst it can only be death ; and a man’s death is not 
a calf’s, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. 
God help me in my task ! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail ; good- 
bye, my faithful friend and second father ; good-bye, all, and 
last of all Mina ! 

Same day, later . — I have made the effort, and, God help- 
ing me, have come safely back to this room. I must put 
down every detail in order. I went whilst my courage was 
fresh straight to the window on the south side, and at once 
got outside on the narrow ledge of stone which runs round 
the building on this side. The stones are big and roughly 
cut, and the mortar has by process of time been washed 
away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out 
on the desperate way. I looked down once, so as to make 
sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would not 
ovei come me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I 
knew pretty well the direction and distance of the Count’s 
window, and made for it as well as I could, having regard 
to the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy— I sup- 


Dracula 


48 

pose I was too excited — and the time seemed ridiculously 
short till I found myself standing on the window-sill and 
trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, how- 
ever, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through 
the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but, with 
surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was 
empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which 
seemed to have never been used; the furniture was some- 
thing the same style as that in the south rooms, and was cov- 
ered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not in the 
lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I 
found was a great heap of gold in one corner — gold of all 
kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian, and Hungarian, 
and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, 
as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I 
noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were 
also chains and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them 
old and stained. 

At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, 
for, since I could not find the key of the room or the key of 
the outer door, which was the main object of my search, I 
must make further examination, or all my efforts would be 
in vain. It was open, and led through a stone passage to a 
circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended, 
minding carefully where I went, for the stairs were dark, 
being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the 
bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which 
came a deathly, sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly 
turned. As I went through the passage the smell grew 
closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which 
stood ajar, and found myself in an old, ruined chapel, which 
had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was 
broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but 
the ground had recently been dug over, and the earth placed 
in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been 
brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I 
made search for any further outlet, but there was none. 
Then I went over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose 
a chance. I went down even into the vaults, where the dim 
light struggled, although to do so was a dread to my very 
soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except frag- 
ments of old coffins and piles of dust ; in the third, however, 
I made a discovery. 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 49 

There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty 
in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was 
either dead or asleep, I could not say which — for the eyes 
were open and stony, but without the glassiness of death— 
and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all their pal- 
lor ; the lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of 
movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I 
bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. 
He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell would 
have passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box 
was its cover, pierced with holes here and there. I thought 
he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search 
I saw the dead eyes, and in them, dead though they were, 
such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my pres- 
ence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count’s room 
by the window, crawled again up the castle wall. Regain- 
ing my room chamber, I threw myself panting upon the bed 
and tried to think 

29 June. — To-day is the date of my last letter, and the 
Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again 
I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my 
clothes. As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished 
I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him ; 
but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man’s hand 
would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him 
return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back 
to the library, and read there till I fell asleep. 

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly 
as a man can look as he said : — 

“To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to 
your beautiful England, I to some work which may have 
such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has 
been despatched ; to-morrow I shall not be here, but all shall 
be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, 
who have some labours of their own here, and also come 
some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall 
tome for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet 
the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes 
that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.” I suspected 
him, and determined to test his sincerity. Sincerity! It 
seems like a profanation of the word to write it in connec- 
tion with such a monster, so asked him point-blank : — 


Dracula 


5 ° 

“Why may I not go to-night ?” 

“Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on 
a mission.” 

“But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at 
once.” He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that 
I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness. He 
said : — 

“And your baggage?” 

“I do not care about it. I can send for it some other 
time.” 

The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which 
made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real: — 

“You English have a saying which is close to my heart, 
for its spirit is that which rules our boyars: ‘Welcome the 
coming; speed the parting guest/ Come with me, my dear 
young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house 
against your will, though sad am I at your going, and that 
you so suddenly desire it. Come !” With a stately gravity, 
he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along 
the hall. Suddenly he stopped. 

“Hark !” 

Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was 
almost as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, 
just as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap under 
the baton of the conductor. After a pause of a moment, he 
proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew back the pon- 
derous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw 
it open. 

To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. 
Suspiciously I looked all round, but could see no key of any 
kind. 

As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves 
without grew louder and angrier; their red jaws, with 
champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, 
came in through the opening door. I knew; then that to 
struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With 
such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But 
still the door continued slowly to open, and only the Count’s 
body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this might 
be the moment and means of my doom ; I was to be given to 
the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diaboli- 
cal wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and 
as a last chance I cried out ; — 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 51 

“Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!” and covered 
my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disap- 
pointment. With one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count 
threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed 
through the hall as they shot back into their places. 

In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute 
or two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count 
Dracula was his kissing his hand to me; with a red light of 
triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might 
be proud of. 

When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought 
I heard a whispering at my door. I went to it softly and 
listened. Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of 
the Count : — 

“Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet 
come. Wait! Have patience! To-night is mine. To-mor- 
row night is yours !” There was a low, sweet ripple of 
laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw with- 
out the three terrible women licking their lips. As I ap- 
peared they all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away. 

I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. 
It is then so near the end ? To-morrow ! to-morrow ! Lord, 
help me, and those to whom I am dear ! 

30 June, morning . — These may be the last words I ever 
write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and 
when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined 
that if Death came he should find me ready. 

At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that 
the morning had come. Then came the welcome cock-crow, 
and I felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened my 
door and ran down to the hall. I had seen that the door was 
unlocked, and now escape was before me. With hands that 
trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew 
back the massive bolts. 

But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I 
pulled, and pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it 
was, it rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It 
had been locked after I left the Count. 

Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, 
and I determined then and there to scale the wall again and 
gain the Count’s room. He might kill me, but death now 
seemed the happier choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed 


Dracula 


S 2 

up to the east window, and scrambled down the wall, as be* 
fore, into the Count’s room. It was empty, but that was as 
I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of 
gold remained. I went through the door in the corner and 
down the winding stair and along the dark passage to the old 
chapel. I knew now well enough where to find the monster 
I sought. 

The great box was in the same place, close against the 
wall, but the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with 
the nails ready in their places to be hammered home. I 
knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised the lid, 
and laid it back against the wall ; and then I saw something 
which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, 
but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the 
white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; 
the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red 
underneath ; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips 
were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners 
of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the 
deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the 
lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if 
the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. 
He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I 
shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in 
me revolted at the contact ; but I had to search, or I was lost. 
The coming night might see my own body a banquet in a 
similar way to those horrid three. I felt all over the body, 
but no sign could I find of the key. Then I stopped and 
looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the 
bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the 
being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, 
for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming mil- 
lions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever- 
widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. 
The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came 
upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no 
lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the work- 
men had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high 
struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as 
I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with 
all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to para- 
lyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from 
the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead. 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 53 

The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I pulled 
it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid, 
which fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my 
sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face, blood- 
stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have 
held its own in the nethermost hell. 

I thought and thought what should be my next move, but 
my brain seemed on fire, and I waited with a despairing feel- 
ing growing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a 
gipsy song sung by merry voices coming closer, and through 
their song the rolling of heavy wheels and the cracking of 
whips ; the Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had 
spoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box 
which contained the vile body, I ran from the place and 
gained the Count's room, determined to rush out at the mo- 
ment the door should be opened. With strained ears, I 
listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the key in the 
great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There 
must have been some other means of entry, or some one had 
a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the 
sound of many feet tramping and dying away in some pas- 
sage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down 
again towards the vault, where I might find the new en- 
trance; but at the moment there seemed to come a violent 
puff of wind, and the door to the winding stair blew to with 
a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying. When I ran 
to push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was 
again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me 
more closely. 

As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many 
tramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heav- 
ily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. , There 
is a sound of hammering; it is the box being nailed down. 
Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, 
with many other idle feet coming behind them. 

The door is shut, and the chains rattle ; there is a grinding 
of the key in the lock; I can hear the key withdraw: then 
another door opens and shuts; I hear the creaking of lock 
and bolt. 

Hark ! in the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll 
of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the 
Szgany as they pass into the distance. 

I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh ! 


54 Dracula 

Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are 
devils of the Pit ! 

I shall not remain alone with them ; I shall try to scale the 
castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take 
some of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a 
way from this dreadful place. 

And then away for home! away to the quickest and 
nearest train ! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed 
land, where the devil and his children still walk with earthly 
feet! 

At least God’s mercy is better than that of these monsters, 
*md the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may 
sleep — as a man. Good-bye, all ! Mina 1 


CHAPTER V 

Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra . 

“q May. 

“My dearest Lucy, — 

“Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply 
overwhelmed with work. The life of an assistant schoolmis- 
tress is sometimes trying. I am longing to be with you, and 
by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our 
castles in the air. I have been working very hard lately, be- 
cause I want to keep up with Jonathan’s studies, and I have 
been practising shorthand very assiduously. When we are 
married I shall be able to be useful to Jonathan, and if I can 
stenograph well enough I can take down what he wants to 
say in this way and write it out for him on the typewriter, at 
which also I am practising very hard. He and I sometimes 
write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping a stenographic 
journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you I shall 
keep a diary in the same way. I don’t mean one 
of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a- 
corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in 
whenever I feel inclined. I do not suppose there will be 
much of interest to other people; but it is not intended for 
them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there is in it 
anything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book. I 
shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing 
and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversa- 
tions. I am told that, with a little practise, one can remember 
all that goes on or that one hears said during a day. However 
we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when we meet 
I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan front 
Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a 
week. I am longing to hear all his news. It must be so nice 
to see strange countries. I wonder if we — I mean Jonathan 
and I — shall ever see them together. There is the ten o’clock 
bell ringing. Good-bye. 

“Your loving 

“ Mina, 


55 


Dracula 


56 

“Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told 
me anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially 
of a tall, handsome, curly-haired man ? ? ?” 


Letter, Lucy W estenr a to Mina Murray. 

“17, Chatham Street , 

‘ Wednesday . 

“My dearest Mina, — 

“I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad 
correspondent. I wrote to you twice since we parted, and 
your last letter was only your second. Besides, I have noth- 
ing to tell you. There is really nothing to interest you. 
Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good deal to 
picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to 
the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was 
with me at the last Pop. Some one has evidently been telling 
tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, 
and he and mamma get on very well together ; they have so 
many things to talk about in common. We met some time 
ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not al- 
ready engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being 
handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and 
really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and-twenty, and 
he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. 
Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to 
see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most 
resolute men I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems 
absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a wonderful 
power he must have over his patients. He has a curious 
habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read 
one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I 
flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that 
from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? / 
do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you 
more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried 
it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, 
and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take suf- 
ficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fash- 
ions. Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind ; 
Arthur says that every day. There, it is all out. Mina, we 
have told all our secrets to each other since we were chit - 


Letters, Etc. 57 

dreu; we have slept together and eaten together, and laughed 
and cried together ; and now, though I have spoken, I would 
like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love 
him. I am blushing as I write, for although 1 think he loves 
me, he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love 
him ; I love him ; I love him ! There, that does me good. I 
wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, 
as we used to sit ; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I 
do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid 
to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to 
stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let me hear from you 
at once, and tell me all that you think about it. Mina, I must 
stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and, Mina, 
pray for my happiness. 

"Lucy. 

“P.S. — I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night 
again. L. 

Letter , Lucy W estenr a to Mina Murray. 

“24 May. 

"My dearest Mina, — 

"Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet 
letter. It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your 
sympathy. 

“My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old 
proverbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in Septem- 
ber, and yet I never had a proposal till to-day, not a real pro- 
posal, and to-day I have had three. Just fancy! Three pro- 
posals in one day ! Isn’t it awful ! I feel sorry, really and 
truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so 
happy that I don’t know what to do with myself. And three 
proposals! But, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell any of the 
girls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas 
and imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their 
very first day at home they did not get six at least. Some 
girls are so vain ! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged 
and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married 
women, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the 
three, but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one, 
except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I 
would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman 


Dracula 


5 * 

ought to tell her husband everything — don’t you think so, 
dear? — and I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their 
wives, to be quite as fair as they are; and women, I am 
afraid, are not always quite as fair as they should be. Well, 
my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of 
him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum man, with the 
strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very cool out- 
wardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently 
been schooling himself as to all sorts of little things, and re- 
membered them ; but he almost managed to sit down on his 
silk hat, which men don’t generally do when they are cool, 
and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing 
with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He 
spoke to me, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how 
dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and 
what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He 
was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not 
care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a 
brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he 
broke off and asked if I could love him in time; and when 
I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some 
hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. 
He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring 
my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a 
woman’s heart was free a man might have hope. And then, 
Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some 
one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and 
he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my 
hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that 
if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best. 
Oh, Mina dear, I can’t help crying; and you must excuse 
this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very 
nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn’t at all a happy thing 
when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know loves 
you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted, 
and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment, 
you are passing quite out of his life. My dear, I must stop 
here at present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy. 

“Evening. 

“Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than 
when I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. 
Well, my dear, number two came after lunch. He is such 


Letters, Etc. 59 

a nice fellow, an American from Texas, and he looks so 
young and so fresh that it seems almost impossible that he 
has been to so many places and has had such adventures. I 
sympathize with poor Desdemona when she had such a dan- 
gerous stream poured in her ear, even by a black man. I 
suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a 
man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know 
now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make 
a girl love me. No, I don’t, for there was Mr. Morris tell- 
ing us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet 

My dear, I am somewhat previous. Mr. Quincey P. Morris 
found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl 
alone. No, he doesn’t, for Arthur tried twice to make a 
chance, and I helping him all I could ; I am not ashamed to 
say it now. I must tell you beforehand that Mr. Morris 
doesn’t always speak slang — that is to say, he never does so 
to strangers or before them, for he is really well educated 
and has exquisite manners — but he found out that it amused 
me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was 
present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such 
funny things. I am afraid, my dear, he has to invent it all, 
for it fits exactly into whatever else he has to say. But this 
is a way slang has. I do not know myself if I shall ever 
speak slang ; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never 
heard him use any as yet. Well, Mr. Morris sat down be- 
side me and looked as happy and jolly as he could, put I 
could see all the same that he was very nervous. He took 
my hand in his, and said ever so sweetly : — 

“ ‘Miss Lucy, I know I ain’t good enough to regulate the 
fixin’s of your little shoes, but I guess if you wait till you 
find a man that is you will go join them seven young women 
with the lamps when you quit. Won’t you just hitch up 
alongside of me and let us go down the long road together, 
driving in double harness?’ 

“Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it 
didn’t seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. 
Seward ; so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know 
anything of hitching, and that I wasn’t broken to harness at 
all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, 
and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on 
so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would for- 
give him. He really did look serious when he was saying it, 
and I couldn’t help feeling a bit serious too — I know, Mina, 


6o 


Dracula 


you will think me a horrid flirt — though I couldn’t help feel 
ing a sort of exultation that he was number two in one day. 
And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pour- 
ing out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very 
heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that 
I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, 
and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose 
he saw something in my face which checked him, for he sud- 
denly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I 
could have loved him for if I had been free : — 

“ ‘Lucy, you are an honest-hearted girl, I know. I should 
not be here speaking to you as I am now if I did not believe 
you clean grit, right through to the very depths of your soul. 
Tell me, like one good fellow to another, is there any one 
else that you care for? And if there is I’ll never trouble 
you a hair’s breadth again, but will be, if you will let me, a 
very faithful friend.’ 

“My dear Mina, why are men so noble when we women 
are so little worthy of them? Here was I almost making 
fun of this great-hearted, true gentleman. I burst into tears 
— I am afraid, my dear, you will think this a very sloppy 
letter in more ways than one — and I really felt very badly. 
Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as 
want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and 
I must not say it. I am glad to say that, though I was cry- 
ing, I was able to look into Mr. Morris’s brave eyes, and I 
told him out straight : — 

“ ‘Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told 
me yet that he even loves me.’ I was right to speak to him 
so frankly, for quite a light came into his face, and he put 
out both his hands and took mine — I think I put them into 
his — and said in a hearty way : — 

“ ‘That’s my brave girl. It’s better worth being late for a 
chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl 
in the world. Don’t cry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard 
nut to crack ; and I take it standing up. If that other fellow 
doesn’t know his happiness, well, he’d better look for it soon, 
or he’ll have to deal with me. Little girl, your honesty and 
pluck have made me a friend, and that’s rarer than a lover; 
it’s more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I’m going to have a 
pretty lonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won’t 
you give me one kiss? It’ll be something to keep off the 
darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like, for 


Letters, Etc. 61 

darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like, for 
that other good fellow — he must be a good fellow, my dear, 
and a fine fellow, or you could not love him — hasn’t spoken 
yet.’ That quite won me, Mina, for it was brave and sweet 
of him, and noble, too, to a rival — wasn’t it ? — and he so sad ; 
so I leant over and kissed him. He stood up with my two 
hands in his, and as he looked .down into my face — I am 
afraid I was blushing very much — he said : — 

“ ‘Little girl, I hold your hand, and you’ve kissed me, and 
if these things don’t make us friends nothing ever will. 
Thank you for your sweet honesty to me, and good-bye.’ He 
wrung my hand, and taking up his hat, went straight out of 
the room without looking back, without a tear or a quiver 
or a pause ; and I am crying like a baby. Oh, why must a 
man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of girls 
about who would worship the very ground he trod on? I 
know I would if I were free — only I don’t want to be free. 
My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of 
happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don’t 
wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy. 

“Ever your loving 

“Lucy. 

“P.S. — Oh, about number three — I needn’t tell you of 
number three, need I ? Besides, it was all so confused ; it 
seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till 
both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am 
very, very happy, and I don’t know what I have done to de- 
serve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not 
ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sendingtome 
such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend. 

“Good-bye.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

(Kept in phonograph) 

25 May. — Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot 
rest, so diary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have 
a sort of empty feeling ; nothing in the world seems of suf- 
ficient importance to be worth the doing As I 

knew that the only cure for this sort. of thing was work, I 
went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who has 
ifforded me a study of much interest. He is so quaint in hfe 


62 


Dracula 


mined to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed 
to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery. 

I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a 
view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucina- 
tion. In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, some- 
thing of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep him to the point 
of his madness — a thing which I avoid with the patients as I 
would the mouth of hell 

(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the 
pit of hell ?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price l 
verb. sap. If there be anything behind this instinct it will 
be valuable to trace it afterwards accurately , so I had better 
commence to do so, therefore — 

R. M. Renfield, aetat 59. — Sanguine temperament; great 
physical strength ; morbidly excitable ; periods of gloom, 
ending in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I pre- 
sume that the sanguine temperament itself and the disturb- 
ing influence end in ? mentally-accomplished finish ; a possi- 
bly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In 
selfish men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as 
for themselves. What I think of on this point is, when self 
is the fixed point the centripetal force is balanced with the 
centrifugal ; when duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point, the 
latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of 
accidents can balance it. 


Letter, Quincey P. Morris to Hon. Arthur Holmwood. 

“25 May . 

“My dear Art, — • 

We’ve told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and 
dressed one another’s wounds after trying a landing at the 
Marquesas; and drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. 
There are more yarns to be told, and other wounds to be 
healed, and another health to be drunk. Won’t you let this 
be at my camp-fire to-morrow night ? I have no hesitation in 
asking you, as I know a certain lady is engaged to a certain 
dinner-party, and that you are free. There will only be one 
other, our old pal at the Korea, Jack Seward. He’s coming, 
too, and we both want to mingle our weeps over the wine- 
cup, and to drink a health with all our hearts to the happiest 
inan in all the wide world, who has won the noblest heart 


Letters, Etc. 63 

that God has made and the best worth winning. We prom- 
ise you a hearty welcome, and a loving greeting, and a 
health as true as your own right hand. We shall both swear 
to leave you at home if you drink too deep to a certain pair 
of eyes. Come I 

“Yours, as ever and always, 

“Quincey P. Morris/' 

Telegram from Arthur Holmwood to Quincey P. Morris. 

26 May. 

“Count me in every time. I bear messages which will 
make both your ears tingle. 


CHAPTER VI 
mina Murray's journal 


24 July. Whitby . — Lucy met me at the station, looking 
sweeter and lovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house 
at the Crescent in which they have rooms. This is a lovely 
place. The little river, the Esk, runs through a deep val- 
ley, which broadens out as it comes near the harbour. A 
great viaduct runs across, with high piers, through which 
the view seems somehow further away than it really is. The 
valley is beautifully green, and it is so steep that when you 
are on the high land on either side you look right across it, 
unless you are near enough to see down. The houses of the 
old town — the side away from us — are all red-roofed, and 
seem piled up one over the other anyhow, like the pictures 
we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruin of 
Whitby Abbey, which wa's sacked by the Danes, and which 
is the scene of part of “Marmion,” where the girl was built 
up in the wall. It is a most noble ruin, of immense size, and 
full of beautiful and romantic bits ; there is a legend that a 
white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it and 
the town there is another church, the parish one, round 
which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones. This is to 
my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the 
town, and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay 
to where the headland called Kettleness stretches out into 
the sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour that part 
of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have 
been destroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the 
graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below. 
There are walks, with seats beside them, through the church- 
yard ; and people go and sit there all day long looking at the 
beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come and sit 
here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing 
now, with my book on my knee, and listening to the talk of 
three old men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do 
nothing all day but sit up here and talk. 

The harbour lies below me, with, on the far side, one long 
64 


Mina Murray’s Journal 65 

granite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve out- 
wards at the end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. 
A heavy sea-wall runs along outside of it. On the near side, 
the sea-wall makes an elbow crooked inversely, and its end 
too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers there is a nar- 
row opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens. 

It is nice at high water ; but when the tide is out it shoals 
away to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, 
running between banks of sand, with rocks here and there. 
Outside the harbour on this side there rises for about half a 
mile a great reef, the sharp edge of which runs straight out 
from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy 
with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a 
mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that 
when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the 
old man about this ; he is coming this way 

He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his 
face is all gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He 
tells me that he is nearly a hundred, and that he was a sailor 
in the Greenland fishing fleet when Waterloo was fought. 
He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical person, for when I asked 
him about the bells at sea and the White Lady at the abbey 
Le said very brusquely : — 

“l wouldn’t fash masel’ about them, miss. Them things 
be all wore out. Mind, I don’t say that they never was, but 
I do say that they wasn’t in my time. They be all very well 
for comers and trippers, an’ the like, but not for a nice young 
lady like you. Them feet-folks from York and Leeds that 
be always eatin’ cured herrin’s an’ drinkin’ tea an’ lookin’ 
out to buy cheap jet would creed aught. I wonder masel’ 
who’d be bothered tellin’ lies to them — even the newspapers, 
which is full of fool-talk.” I thought he would be a good 
person to learn interesting things from, so I asked him if he 
would mind telling me something about the whale-fishing 
in the old days. He was just settling himself to begin when 
the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up, and 
said : — 

“I must gang ageeanwards home now, miss. My grand- 
daughter doesn’t like to be kept waitin’ when the tea is ready, 
for it takes me time to crammle aboon the grees, for there 
be a many of ’em ; an’, miss, I lack belly-timber sairly by the 
clock.” 

He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well 


66 


Dracula 


as he could, down the steps. The steps are a great feature of 
the place. They lead from the town up to the church ; there 
are hundreds of them — I do not know how many — and they 
wind up in a delicate curve; the slope is so gentle that a 
horse could easily walk up and down them. 1 think they 
must originally have had something to do with the abbey. 
I shall go home too. Lucy went out visiting with her mother, 
and as they were only duty calls, I did not go. They will be 
home by this. 

i August . — I came up here an hour ago with Lucy, and 
we had a most interesting talk with my old friend and the 
two others who always come and join him. He is evidently 
the Sir Oracle of them, and I should think must have been 
in his time a most dictatorial person. He will not admit any- 
thing, and downfaces everybody. If he can’t out-argue them 
he bullies them, and then takes their silence for agreement 
with his views. Lucy was looking sweetly pretty in her 
white lawn frock; she has got a beautiful colour since she 
has been here. I noticed that the old men did not lose any 
time in coming up and sitting near her when we sat down. 
She is so sweet with old people ; I think they all fell in love 
with her on the spot. Even my old man succumbed and did 
not contradict her, but gave me double share instead. I got 
him on the subject of the legends, and he went off at once 
into a sort of sermon. I must try to remember it and put 
it down : — 

“It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel ; that’s what it 
be, an’ nowt else. These bans an’ wafts an’ boh-ghosts an’ 
barguests an’ bogles an’ all anent them is only fit to set bairns 
an’ dizzy women a-belderin’. They be nowt but air-blebs. 
They, an ’all grims an’ signs an’ warnin’s, be all invented 
by parsons an’ illsome beuk-bodies an’ railway touters to 
skeer an' scunner hafflin’s, an’ to get folks to do somethin’ 
that they don’t other incline to. It makes me ireful to think 
o’ them. Why, it’s them that, not content with printin’ lies 
on paper an’ preachin’ them out of pulpits, does want to be 
euttin’ them on the tombsteans. Look here all around you 
in what airt ye will ; all them steans, holdin’ up their heads 
as well as they can out of their pride, is acant — simply tum- 
blin’ down with the weight o’ the lies wrote on them, ‘Here 
lies the body* or ‘Sacred to the memory’ wrote on all of 
them, an’ yet in nigh half of them there bean’t no bodies a> 


Mina Murray’s Journal 67 

*11 ; an’ the memories of them bean’t cared a pinch of snuff 
about, much less sacred. Lies all of them, nothin’ but lies 
of one kind or another ! My gog, but it’ll be a quare scow- 
derment at the Day of Judgment when they come tumblin’ 
up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an’ tryin’ to 
drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good 
they was* some of them trimmlin’ and ditherin’, with their 
hands that dozzened an’ slippy from lyin’ in the sea that they 
can’t even keep their grup o’ them.” 

I could see from the old fellow’s self-satisfied air and the 
way in which he looked round for the approval of his cro- 
nies that he was “showing off,” so I put in a word to keep 
him going: — 

“Oh, Mr. Swales, you can’t be serious. Surely these tomb- 
stones are not all wrong?” 

“Yabblins ! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin’ 
where they make out the people too good ; for there be folk 
that do think a balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their 
own. The whole thing be only lies. Now look you here; 
you come here a stranger, an’ you see this kirk-garth.” I nod- 
ded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite 
understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with 
the church. He went on: “And you consate that all these 
steans be aboon folk that be happed here, snod an’ snog?” 
I assented again. “Then that be just where the lie comes 
in. Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom 
as old Dun’s ’bacca-box on Friday night.” He nudged one 
of his companions, and they all laughed. “Aqd my gog! 
how could they be otherwise? Look at that one, the aftest 
abaft the bier-bank ; read it !” I went over and read : — 

“Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by 
pirates off the coast of Andres, April, 1854, set. 30.” When 
I came back Mr. Swales went on : — 

“Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? 
Murdered off the coast of Andres! an’ you consated his 
body lay under! Why, I could name ye a dozen whose 
bones lie in the Greenland seas above” — he pointed north- 
wards — “or where the currents may have drifted them. 
There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young 
eyes, read the small-print of the lies from here. This Braith- 
waite Lowrey — I knew his father, lost in the Lively off 
Greenland in ’20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the 
same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Fare- 


68 


Dracula 


well a year later ; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather 
sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in ’50. Do 
ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to 
Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums 
aboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they’d be jom- 
mlin’ an’ jostlin’ one another that way that it ’ud be like a 
fight up on the ice in the old days, when we’d be at one 
another from daylight to dark, an’ tryin’ to tie up our cuts 
by the light of the aurora borealis.” This was evidently 
local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and his 
cronies joined in with gusto. 

“But,” I said, “surely you are not quite correct, for you 
start on the assumption that all the poor people, or their 
spirits, will have to take their tombstones with them on the 
Day of Judgment. Do you think that will be really neces- 
sary ?” 

“Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me 
that, miss !” 

“To please their relatives, I suppose.” t 

“To please their relatives, you suppose!” This he said 
with intense scorn. “How will it pleasure their relatives to 
know that lies is wrote over them, and that everybody in the 
place knows that they be lies ?” He pointed to a stone at our 
feet which had been laid down as a slab, on which the seat 
was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. “Read the lies on 
that thruff-stean,” he said. The letters were upside down 
to me from where I sat, but Lucy was more opposite to them, 
so she leant over and read : — 

“Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the 
hope of a glorious resurrection, on July 29, 1873, falling 
from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb is erected by his 
sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved son. ‘He was the 
only son of his mother, and she was a widow.’ ” “Really, 
Mr. Swales, I don’t see anything very funny in that !” She 
spoke her comment very gravely and somewhat severely. 

“Ye don’t see aught funny ! Ha ! ha ! But that’s because 
ye don’t gawm the sorrowin’ mother was a hell-cat that hated 
him because he was acrewk’d — a regular lamiter he was — an’ 
he hated her so that he committed suicide in order that she 
mightn’t get an insurance she put on his life. He blew nigh 
the top of his head off with an old musket that they had for 
scarin’ the crows with. ’Twarn’t for crows then, for it 
brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That’s the way he 


Mina Murray’s Journal 69 

fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrec- 
tion, I’ve often heard him say masel’ that he hoped he’d go 
to hell, for his mother was so pious that she’d be sure to go 
to heaven, an’ he didn’t wan’t to addle where she was. Now 
isn’t that stean at any rate” — he hammered it with his stick 
as he spoke — “a pack of lies? and won’t it make Gabriel 
keckle when Geordie comes pantin’ up the grees with the 
tombstean balanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as 
evidence !” 

I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversa- 
tion as she said, rising up : — 

“Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, 
and I cannot leave it; and now I find I must go on sitting 
over the grave of a suicide.” 

“That won’t harm ye, my pretty; an’ it may make poor 
Geordie gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin’ on his lap. 
That won’t hurt ye. Why, I’ve sat here off an’ on for nigh 
twenty years past, an’ it hasn’t done me no harm. Don’t ye 
fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn’ lie there 
either! It’ll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see 
the tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a 
stubble-field. There’s the clock, an’ I must gang. My ser- 
vice to ye, ladies!” And off he hobbled. 

Lucy and I sat a while, and it was all so beautiful before 
us that we took hands as we sat; and she told me all over 
again about Arthur and their coming marriage. That made 
me just a little heart-sick, for I haven’t heard from Jonathan 
for a whole month. 

The same day . — I came up here alone, for I am very sad. 
There was no letter for me. I hope there cannot be any- 
thing the matter with Jonathan. The clock has just struck 
nine. I see the lights scattered all over the town, sometimes 
in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly; they 
run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. 
To my left the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the 
old house next the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleat- 
ing in the fields away behind me, and there is a clatter of a 
donkey’s hoofs up the paved road below. The band on the 
pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further along 
the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street. 
Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and 


Dracula 


7 ° 

see them both. I wonder where Jonathan is and if he t& 
thinking of me ! I wish he were here. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

5 June . — The case of Renfield grows more interesting the 
more I get to understand the man. He has certain qualities 
very largely developed ; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. 1 
wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He 
seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is 
I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love of ani- 
mals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns in it that 
I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets 
are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching flies. He 
has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to 
expostulate. To my astonishment, he did not break out into 
a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple serious- 
ness. He thought for a moment, and then said: “May I 
have three days? I shall clear them away.” Of course, I 
said that would do. I must watch him. 

18 June . — He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has 
got several very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding 
them with his flies, and the number of the latter is becoming 
sensibly diminished, although he has used half his food in 
attracting more flies from outside to his room. 

i July . — His spiders are now becoming as great a nui- 
sance as his flies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid 
of them. He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must 
clear out some of them, at all events. He cheerfully acqui- 
esced in this, and I gave him the same time as before for 
reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when 
a horrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed 
into the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few mo- 
ments between his finger and thumb, and, before I knew 
what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I 
scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very 
good and very wholesome ; that it was life, strong life, and 
gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of 
one. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has 
evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a 
little note-book in which he is always jotting (town some- 
thing. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of figures, 
generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the 


Mina Murray’s Journal 7 1 

totals added in batches again, as though he were “focussing” 
some account, as the auditors put it. 

8 July . — There is a method in his madness, and the rudi- 
mentary idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole 
idea soon, and then, oh, unconscious cerebration! you will 
have to give the wall to your conscious brother. I kept 
away from my friend for a few days, so that I might notice 
if there were any change. Things remain as they were ex- 
cept that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new 
one. He has managed to get a sparrow, and has already 
partially tamed it. His means of taming is simple, for al- 
ready the spiders have diminished. Those that do remain, 
however, are well fed, for he still brings in the flies by tempt- 
ing them with his food. 

19 July . — We are progressing. My friend has now a 
whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders are al- 
most obliterated. When I came in he ran to me and said he 
wanted to ask me a great favour — a very, very great favour ; 
and as he spoke he fawned on me like a dog. I asked him 
what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in his voice 
and bearing: — 

“A kitten, a nice little, sleek, playful kitten, that I can 
play with, and teach, and feed — and feed — and feed!” I 
was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how 
his pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not 
care that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped 
out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders ; so I said 
I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather 
have a cat than a kitten. His eagerness betrayed him as he 
answered : — 

“Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten 
lest you should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a 
kitten, would they ?” I shook my head, and said that at 
present I feared it would not be possible, but that I would 
see about it. His face fell, and I could see a warning of 
danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce, sidelong, look 
which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped homicidal 
maniac. I shall test him whh his present craving and see 
how it will work out ; then I shall know more. 

10 p. m . — I have visited him again and found him sitting 
in a, corner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on 


Dracula 


72 

his knees before me and implored me to let him have a catj 
that his salvation depended upon it. I was firm, however, 
and told him that he could not have it, whereupon he went 
without a word, and sat down, gnawing his fingers, in the 
corner where I had found him. I shall see him in the morn- 
ing early. 

20 July . — Visited Renfield very early, before the attendant' 
went his rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He 
was spreading out his sugar, which he had saved, in the 
window, and was manifestly beginning his fly-catching 
again ; and beginning it cheerfully and with a good grace. I 
looked around for his birds, and not seeing them, asked him 
where they were. He replied, without turning round, that 
they had all flown away. There were a few feathers about 
the room and on his pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, 
but went and told the keeper to report to me if there were 
anything odd about him during the day. 

11 a. m . — The attendant has just been to me to say that 
Renfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot 
of feathers. “My belief is, doctor,” he said, “that he has 
eaten his birds, and that he just took and ate them raw !” 

11 p. m . — I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough 
to make even him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to 
look at it. The thought that has been buzzing about my 
brain lately is complete, and the theory proved. My homi- 
cidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to invent a 
new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous (life- 
eating) maniac ; what he desires is to absorb as many lives 
as he can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a 
cumulative way. He gave many flies to one spider and 
*'many spiders to one bird, and then wanted a cat to eat the 
many birds. What would have been his later steps? It 
would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It 
might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men 
sneered at vivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! 
Why not advance science in its most difficult and vital aspect 
— the knowledge of the brain? Had I even the secret of 
one such mind — did I hold the key to the fancy of even one 
lunatic — I might advance my own branch of science to a 
pitch compared with which Burdon-Sanderson’s physiology 
or Ferrier’s brain-knowledge would be as nothing. * If onb* 


Mina Murray’s Journal 73 

there were a sufficient cause ! I must not think too much of 
this, or I may be tempted ; a good cause might turn the scale 
with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain, con- 
genitally ? 

How well the man reasoned; lunatics always do within 
their own scope. I wonder at how many lives he values a 
man, or if at only one. He has closed the account most 
accurately, and to-day begun a new record. How many of 
us begin a new record with each day of our lives? 

To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended 
with my new hope, and that truly I began a new record. So 
it will be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes 
my ledger account with a balance to profit or loss. Oh, 
Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be angry 
with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only 
wait on hopeless and work. Work ! work ! 

If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad 
friend there — a good, unselfish cause to make me work — 
that would be indeed happiness. 

Mina Murray’s Journal 

26 July . — I am anxious, and it soothes me to express my- 
self here ; it is like whispering to one’s self and listening at 
the same time. And there is also something about the short- 
hand symbols that makes it different from writing. I am 
unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I had not heard 
from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned ; but 
yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent 
me a letter from him. I had written asking him if he had 
heard, and he said the enclosed had just been received. It 
is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is 
just starting for home. That is not like Jonathan ; I do not 
understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy, 
although she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of 
walking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about 
it, and we have decided that I am to lock the door of our 
room every night. Mrs. Westenra has got an idea that 
sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along 
the edges of cliffs, and then get suddenly wakened and fall 
over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place. 
Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells 
me that her husband, Lucy’s father, had the same habit; 
&at he would get up in the night and dress himself and go 


Dracula 


74 

out, if he were not stopped. Lucy is to be married in the 
autumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how 
her house is to be arranged. I sympathise with her, for I 
do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life in a very 
simple way, and shall have to try to make both ends meet. 
Mr. Holmwood — he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only son 
of Lord Godaiming — is coming up here very shortly — as 
soon as he can leave town, for his father is not very well, and 
I think dear Lucy is counting the moments till he comes. 
She wants to take him up to the seat on the churchyard cliff 
and show him the beauty of Whitby. I daresay it is the. 
waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when he 
arrives. 

27 July . — No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite 
uneasy about him, though why I should I do not know ; but 
I do wish that he would write, if it were only a single line. 
Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened 
by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is 
so hot that she cannot get cold ; but still the anxiety and the 
perpetually being wakened is beginning to tell on me, and 
I am getting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, 
Lucy’s health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood has been sud- 
denly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken 
seriously ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, 
but it does not touch her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and 
her cheeks are a lovely rose pink. She has lost that anaemic 
look which she had. I pray it will all last. 

3 August . — Another week gone, and no news from Jona- 
than, not even to Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard 
Oh, I do hope he is not ill. He surely would have written. 
I look at that last letter of his, but somehow it does not 
satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it is hi? 
writing. There is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked 
much in her sleep the last week, but there is an odd concen- 
tration about her which I do not understand; even in her 
sleep she seems to be watching me. She tries the door, and 
finding it locked, goes about the room searching for the key. 

6 August . — Another three days, and no news. This sus- 
pense is getting dreadful. If I only knew where to write to 
or where to go to, I should feel easier ; but no one has heard 
a word of Jonathan since that last letter. I must only pray 


Mina Murray’s Journal 73 

to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable than ever, but 
is otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and the 
fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to 
watch it and learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, 
and the sun as I write is hidden in thick clouds, high over 
Kettleness. Everything is grey — except the gr^en grass, 
which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock; 
grey clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang 
over the grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey 
fingers. The sea is tumbling in over the shallows and the 
sandy flats with a roar, muffled in the sea-mists drifting in- 
land. The horizon is lost in a grey mist. All is vastness; 
the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and there is a “brool” 
over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom. Dark 
figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half 
shrouded in the mist, and seem “men like trees walking.” 
The fishing-boats are racing for home, and rise and dip in 
the ground swell as they sweep into the harbour, bending 
to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is mak- 
ing straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, 
that he wants to talk 

I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old 
man. When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle 
way : — 

“I want to say something to you, miss.” I could see he 
was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in 
mine and asked him to speak fully ; so he said, leaving his 
hand in mine : — 

“I’m afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by 
all the wicked things Fve been sayin’ about the dead, and 
such like, for weeks past ; but I didn’t mean them, and I 
want ye to remember that when I’m gone. We aud folks 
that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, 
don’t altogether like to think of it, and we don’t want to feel 
scart of it; an’ that’s why I’ve took to makin light of it, 
so that I’d cheer up my own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, 
miss, I ain’t afraid of dyin’, not a bit ; only I don’t want to 
die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at hand now, for 
I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to 
expect; and I’m so nigh it that the Aud Man is already 
whettin’ his scythe. Ye see, I can’t get out o’ the habit of 
callin’ about it all at once ; the chafts will wag as they be 


Dracula 


7 6 

used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound his 
trumpet for me. But don’t ye dooal an’ greet, my deary l” 
— for he saw that I was crying — “if he should come this very 
night I’d not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, 
only a waitin’ for somethin’ else than what we’re doin’ ; and 
death be all that we can rightly depend on. But I’m content, 
for it’s cornin’ to me, my deary, and cornin’ quick. It may be 
cornin’ while we be lookin’ and wonderin’. Maybe it’s in 
that wind out over the sea that’s bringin’ with it loss and 
wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!” he 
cried suddenly. “There’s something in that wind and in 
the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and 
smells like death. It’s in the air; I feel it cornin’. Lord, 
make me answer cheerful when my call comes !” He held 
up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth moved 
as though he were praying. After a few minutes’ silence, 
he got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said 
good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me 
very much. 

I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy- 
glass under his arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he 
always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship. 

“I can’t make her out,” he said ; “she’s a Russian, by the 
look of her; but she’s knocking about in the queerest way. 
She doesn’t know her mind a bit ; she seems to see the storm 
coming, but can’t decide whether to run up north in the 
open, or to put in here. Look there again ! She is steered 
mighty strangely, for she doesn’t mind the hand on the 
"wheel ; changes about with every puff of wind. We’ll heaf 
more of her before this time to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER VII 

CUTTING FROM “THE DAILYGRAPH," 8 AUGUST. 

(Pasted in Mina Murray's Journal.) 

From a Correspondent. 

Whitby. 

One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has 
just been experienced here, with results both strange and 
unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to 
any degree uncommon in the month of August. Saturday 
evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of 
holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave 
Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, 
and the various trips in the neighbourhood of Whitby. The 
steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and down 
the coast, and there was an unusual amount of “tripping" 
both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till 
the afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the 
East Cliff churchyard, and from that commanding eminence 
watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, 
called attention to a sudden show of “mares’-tails" high in 
the sky to the north-west. The wind was then blowing from 
the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical lan-^ 
guage is ranked “No. 2 : light breeze." The coastguard on 
duty at once made report, and one old fisherman, who for 
more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs 
from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the com- 
ing of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very 
beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured 
clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along 
the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before 
the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing 
boldly athwart the western skv, its downward way was 
marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour — flame, pur- 
ple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold ; with here 
and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute black- 
ness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal sil* 

77 


Dracula* 


78 

houettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and 
doubtless some of the sketches of the '‘Prelude to the Great 
Storm” will grace the R. A. and R. I. walls in May next. 
More than one captain made up his mind then and there that 
his “cobble” or his “mule,” as they term the different classes 
of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had 
passed. The wind fell away entirely during the evening, 
and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and 
that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder, 
affects persons of a sensitive nature. There were but few 
lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which 
usually “hug” the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and 
but few fishing-boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable 
was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seem- 
ingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of 
her officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she re- 
mained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her to re- 
duce sail in face of her danger. Before the night shut down 
she was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on 
the undulating swell of the sea, 

“ As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean." 

Shortly before ten o’clock the stillness of the air grew 
quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the 
bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town 
was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively 
French air, was like a discord in the great harmony of na- 
ture’s silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound 
from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry 
a strange, faint, hollow booming. 

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity 
which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards 
is impossible to realise, the whole aspect of nature at once 
became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each 
overtopping its fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately 
glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. White- 
crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up 
the. shelving cliffs ; others broke over the piers, and with 
their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which 
rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour. The 
wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it 
was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or 
clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was founj 


Cutting from “ The Dailygraph ** 79 

necessary to clear the entire piers from the mass of onlook- 
ers, or else the fatalities of the night would have been in- 
creased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of 
the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland — white, wet 
clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp 
and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to 
think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their 
living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a 
one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by. At times 
the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen 
in the glare of the lightning, which now came thick and fast, 
followed by such sudden peals of thunder that the whole sky 
overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps 
of the storm. 

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable 
grandeur and of absorbing interest — the sea, running moun- 
tains high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses 
of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and 
whirl away into space ; here and there a fishing-boat, with a 
rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast ; now 
and again the white wings of a storm-tossed sea-bird. On 
the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready 
for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in 
charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of 
the inrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once 
or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing- 
boat, with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, 
able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the 
danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved 
the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass 
of people on shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to 
cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush. 

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away 
a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which 
had been noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by 
this time backed to the east, and there was a shudder 
amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realised the terri- 
ble danger in which she now was. Between her and the port 
lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have 
from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from 
its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she 
should fetch the entrance of the harbour. It was now nearly 
the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that in 


8o 


Dracula 


their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, 
and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such 
speed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up 
somewhere, if it was only in hell. ,, Then came another rush 
of sea- fog, greater than any hitherto — a mass of dank mist, 
which seemed to close on all things like a grey pall, and left 
available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of 
the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming 
of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even 
louder than before. The rays of the searchlight were kept 
fixed on the harbour mouth across the East Pier, where the 
shock was expected, and men waited breathless. The wind 
suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant of the 
sea-fog melted in the blast ; and then, mirabile dictu, between 
the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong 
speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all 
sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The search- 
light followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw 
her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, 
which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. 
No other form could be seen on deck at all. A great awe 
came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, 
had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead 
man ! However, all took place more quickly than it takes 
to write these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing 
across the harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of 
sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into 
the south-east corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff, 
known locally as Tate Hill Pier. 

There was of course a considerable concussion as the 
vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and 
stay was strained, and some of the “top-hammer” came 
crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant the 
shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from 
below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, 
jumped from the bow on the sand. Making straight for the 
steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs over the laneway to 
the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat tombstones — • 
“thruff-steans” or “through-stones,” as they call them in the 
Whitby vernacular — actually project over where the sustain- 
ing cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, 
which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the search- 
light. 


Cutting from “ The Dailygraph 99 8 i 

It so happened that there was no one at the moment on 
Pate Hill Pier, as all those whose houses are in close prox- 
imity were either in bed or were out on the heights above. 
Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern side of the har- 
bour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the first to 
climb on board. The men working the searchlight, after 
scouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing any- 
thing, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it there. 
The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel, 
bent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under 
some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curi- 
osity, and quite a number of people began to run. It is a 
good way round from the West Cliff by the Drawbridge to 
Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good run- 
ner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, 
however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, 
whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on 
board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your 
correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a 
small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed 
to the wheel. 

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or 
even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. 
The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the 
other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and 
the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fas- 
tened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast 
by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been 
seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails 
had worked through the rudder of the wheel and dragged 
him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had 
cut the flesh to the bone. Accurate note was made of the 
state of things, and a doctor — Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, 
East Elliot Place — who came immediately after me, declared, 
after making examination, that the man must have been dead 
for quite two days. In his pocket was a bottle, carefully 
corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to 
be the addendum to the log. The coastguard said the man 
must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with 
his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board 
may save some complications, later on, in the Admiralty 
Court ; for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the 
right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, 


82 


Dracula 


however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law 
student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are 
already completely sacrificed, his property being held in con- 
travention of the statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as em- 
blemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a 
dead hand. It is needless to say that the dead steersman has 
been reverently removed from the place where he held his 
honourable watch and ward till death — a steadfastness as 
noble as that of the young Casabianca — and placed in the 
mortuary to await inquest. 

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is 
abating; crowds are scattering homeward, and the sky is 
beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds. I shall 
send, in time for your next issue, further details of the dere- 
lict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour 
in the storm. 

Whitby. 

9 August . — The sequel to the strange arrival of the dere- 
lict in the storm last night is almost more startling than the 
thing itself. It turns out that the schooner is a Russian 
from Varna, and is called the Demeter . She is almost en- 
tirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of 
cargo — a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould. 
This cargo was consigned to a Whitby solicitor, Mr. S. F. 
Billington, of 7, The Crescent, who this morning went 
aboard and formally took possession of the goods consigned 
to him. The Russian consul, too, acting for the charter- 
party, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all har- 
bour dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here to-day except 
the strange coincidence; the officials of the Board of Trade 
have been most exacting in seeing that every compliance has 
been made with existing regulations. As the matter is to be 
a “nine days’ wonder,” they are evidently determined that 
there shall be no cause of after complaint. A good deal of 
interest was abroad concerning the dog which landed when 
the ship struck, and more than a few of the members of the 
S. P. C. A., which is very strong in Whitby, have tried to 
befriend the animal. To the general disappointment, how- 
ever, it was not to be found ; it seems to have disappeared 
entirely from the town. It may be that it was frightened 
and made its way on to the moors, where it is still hiding in 
terror. There are some who look with dread on such a pos- 
sibility, lest later on it should in itself become a danger, for 


Cutting from “The Dailygraph ” 83 

it is evidently a fierce brute. Early this morning a large 
uOg, a half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to 
Tate Hill Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite to 
master’s yard. It had been fighting, and manifestly had had 
a savage opponent, for its throat was torn away, and its belly 
was slit open as if with a savage claw. 

Later. — By the kindness of the Board of Trade inspector, 
I have been permitted to look over the log-book of the 
Demeter, which was in order up to within three days, but 
contained nothing of special interest except as to facts of 
missing men. The greatest interest, however, is with regard 
to the paper found in the bottle, which was to-day produced 
at the inquest; and a more strange narrative than the two 
between them unfold it has not been my lot to come across. 
As there is no motive for concealment, I am permitted to 
use them, and accordingly send you a rescript, simply omit- 
ting technical details of seamanship and supercargo. It al- 
most seems as though the captain had been seized with some 
kind of mania before he had got well into blue water, and that 
this had developed persistently throughout the voyage. Of 
course my statement must be taken cum grano, since I am 
writing from the dictation of a clerk of the Russian consul, 
who kindly translated for me, time being short. 

LOG OF THE "DEMETER.” 

Varna to Whitby. 

Written 18 July , things so strange happening, that I shall 
keep accurate note henceforth till we land . 

On 6 July we finished taking in cargo, silver sand and 
boxes of earth. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, 
five hands, .... two mates, cook, and myself (captain). 

On 11 July at dawn entered Bosphorus. Boarded by 
Turkish Customs officers. Backsheesh. All correct. Under 
way at 4 p. m. 

On 12 July through Dardanelles. More Customs officers 
and flagboat of guarding squadron,. Backsheesh again. 
Work of officers thorough, but quick. Want us off soon. 
At dark passed into Archipelago. 

On 13 July passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about 
something. Seemed scared, but would not speak out. 


Dracula 


84 

On 14 July was somewhat anxious about crew. Men all 
steady fellows, who sailed with me before. Mate could not 
make out what was wrong; they only told him there was 
something, and crossed themselves. Mate lost temper with 
one of them that day and struck him. Expected fierce quar- 
rel, but all was quiet. 

On 16 July mate reported in the morning that one of crew, 
Petrofsky, was missing. Could not account for it. Took 
larboard watch eight bells last night; was relieved by 
Abramoff, but did not go to bunk. Men more downcast than 
ever. All said they expected something of the kind, but 
would not say more than that there was something aboard. 
Mate getting very impatient with them; feared some trou- 
ble ahead. 

On 17 July, yesterday, one of the men, Olgaren, came to 
my cabin, and in an awestruck way confided to me that hf 
thought there was a strange man aboard the ship. He said 
that in his watch he had been sheltering behind the deck- 
house, as there was a rain-storm, when he saw a tall, thin 
man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the com- 
panion-way, and go along the deck forward, and disappear* 
He followed cautiously, but when he got to bows found no 
one, and the hatchways were all closed. He was in a panic 
of superstitious fear, and I am afraid the panic may spread. 
To allay it, I shall to-day search entire ship carefully from 
stem to stern. 

Later in the day I got together the whole crew, and told 
them, as they evidently thought there was some one in the 
ship, we would search from stem to stern. First mate angry ; 
said it was folly, and to yield to such foolish ideas would de- 
moralise the men ; said he would engage to keep them out of 
trouble with a handspike. I let him take the helm, while the 
rest began thorough search, all keeping abreast, with lan- 
terns ; we left no corner unsearched. As there were only 
the big wooden boxes, there were no odd corners where a 
man could hide. Men much relieved when search over, and 
went back to work cheerfully. First mate scowled, but said 
nothing. 

22 July . — Rough weather last three days, and all hands 
bmy with sails — no time to be frightened. Men seem to 


Cutting from “ The Dailygraph n 85 

have forgotten their dread. Mate cheerful again, and all on 
good terms. Praised men for work in bad weather. Passed 
Gibraltar and out through Straits. All well. 

24 July . — There seems some doom over this ship. Already 
a hand short, and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild 
weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost — dis- 
appeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was not 
seen again. Men all in a panic of fear ; sent a round robin, 
asking to have double watch, as they fear to be alone. Mate 
angry. Fear there will be some trouble, as either he or the 
men will do some violence. 

28 July. — Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of 
maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. 
Men all worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since 
no one fit to go on. Second mate volunteered to steer and 
watch, and let men snatch a few hours’ sleep. Wind abat- 
ing ; seas still terrific, but feel them less, as ship is steadier. 

29 July. — Another tragedy. Had single watch to-night, 
as crew too tired to double. When morning watch came on 
deck could find no one- except steersman. Raised outcry, 
and all came on deck. Thorough search, but no one found. 
Are now without second mate, and crew in a panic. Mate 
and I agreed to go armed henceforth and wait for any sign 
of cause. 

30 July. — Last night. Rejoiced we are nearing England. 
Weather fine, all sails set. Retired worn out ; slept soundly ; 
awaked by mate telling me that both man of watch and 
steersman missing. Only self and mate and two hands left 
to work ship. 

1 August. — Two days of fog, and not a sail sighted. Had 
hoped when in the English Channel to be able to signal for 
help or get in somewhere. Not having power to work sails, 
have to run before wind. Dare not lower, as could not raise 
them again. We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom. 
Mate now more demoralised than either of men. His 
stronger nature seems to have worked inwardly against him- 
self. Men are beyond fear, working stolidly and patiently, 
with minds made up to worst. They are Russian, he Rou- 
manian. 


86 


Dracula 


2 August, midnight . — Woke up from few minutes’ sleej 
oy hearing a cry, seemingly outside my port. Could see 
nothing in fog. Rushed on deck, and ran against mate. Tells 
me heard cry and ran, but no sign of man on watch. One 
more gone. Lord, help us! Mate says we must be past 
Straits of Dover, as in a moment of fog lifting he saw North 
Foreland, just as he heard the man cry out. If so we are 
now off in the North Sea, and only God can guide us in the 
fog, which seems to move with us; and God seems to have 
deserted us. 

3 August . — At midnight I went to relieve the man at the 

wheel, and when I got to it found no one there. The wind 
was steady, and as we ran before it there was no yawing. ] 
dared not leave it, so shouted for the mate. After a few 
seconds he rushed up on deck in his flannels. He looked 
wild-eyed and haggard, and I greatly fear his reason has 
given way. He came close to me and whispered hoarsely, 
with his mouth to my ear, as though fearing the very air 
might hear : “It is here ; I know it, now. On the watch last 
night I saw It, like a man, tall and thin, and ghastly pale. 
It was in the bows, and looking out. I crept behind It, and 
gave It my knife ; but the knife went through It, empty as 
the air.” And as he spoke he took his knife and drove it sav- 
agely into space. Then he went on: “But It is here, and 
I’ll find It. It is in the hold, perhaps in one of those boxes. 
I’ll unscrew them one by one and see. You work the helm.” 
And, with a warning look and his finger on his lip, he went 
below. There was springing up a choppy wind, and I could 
not leave the helm. I saw him come out on deck again with 
a tool-chest and a lantern, and go down the forward hatch- 
way. He is mad, stark, raving mad, and it’s no use my try- 
ing to stop him. He can’t hurt those big boxes : they are in- 
voiced as “clay,” and to pull them about is as harmless a 
thing as he can do. So here I stay, and mind the helm, and 
write these notes. I can only trust in God and wait till the 
fog clears. Then, if I can’t steer to any harbour with the 
wind that is, I shall cut down sails and lie by, and signal for 
help 

It is nearly all over now. Just as I was beginning to hope 
ftiat the mate would come out calmer — for I heard him 
knocking away at something in the hold, and work is good, 


Cutting from “The Daily graph ** 87 

for him — there came up the hatchway a sudden, startled 
scream, which made my blood run cold, and up on the deck 
he came as if shot from a gun — a raging madman, with his 
eyes rolling and his face convulsed with fear. “Save me! 
save me !” he cried, and then looked round on the blanket of 
fog. His horror turned to despair, and in a steady voice he 
said: “You had better come too, captain, before it is too 
late. He is there. I know the secret now. The sea will save 
me from Him, and it is all that is left!” Before I could say 
a word, or move forward to seize him, he sprang on the bul- 
wark and deliberately threw himself into the sea. I sup- 
pose I know the secret too, now. It was this madman who 
had got rid of the men one by one, and now he has followed 
them himself. God help me ! How am I to account for all 
these horrors when I get to port ? When I get to port! Will 
that ever be ? 

4 August. — Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I 
know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know 
not. I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm; so 
here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw 
It — Him ! God forgive me, but the mate was right to jump 
overboard. It was better to die like a man ; to die like a 
sailor in blue water no man can object. But I am captain, 
and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend 
or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my 
strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that 
which He — It ! — dare not touch ; and then, come good wind 
or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. 
I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on. If He 
can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act. . 
. . . If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, 

and those who find it may understand; if not, . . . . 

well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my 
trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a 
poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty 

Of course the verdict was an open one. There is no evi- 
dence to adduce ; and whether or not the man himself com- 
mitted the murders there is now none to say. The folk here 
hold almost universally that the captain is simply a hero, and 
he is to be given a public funeral. Already it is arranged 
that his body is to be taken with a train of boats up the Esk 


88 


Dracute 


for a piece and then brought back to Tate Hill Pier and up 
the abbey steps; for he is to be buried in the churchyard on 
the cliff. The owners of more than a hundred boats have 
already given in their names as wishing to follow him to the 
grave. 

No trace has ever been found of the great dog; at which 
there is much mourning, for, with public opinion in its pres- 
ent state, he would, I believe, be adopted by the town. To- 
morrow will see the funeral ; and so will end this one more 
“mystery of the sea 

Mina Murray's Journal . 

8 August .— Lucy was very restless all night, and I, too, 
could not sleep. The storm was fearful, and as it boomed 
loudly among the chimney-pots, it made me shudder. When 
a sharp puff came it seemed to be like a distant gun. 
Strangely enough, Lucy did not wake ; but she got up twice 
and dressed herself. Fortunately, each time I awoke in time, 
and managed to undress her without waking her, and got 
her back to bed. It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walk- 
ing, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical way, 
her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields her- 
self almost exactly to the routine of her life. 

Early in the morning we both got up and went down to 
the harbour to see if anything had happened in the night. 
There were very few people about, and though the sun was 
bright, and the air clear and fresh, the big, grim-looking 
waves, that seemed dark themselves because the foam that 
topped them was like snow, forced themselves in through 
the narrow mouth of the harbour — like a bullying man go- 
ing through a crowd. Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan 
was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on 
land or sea ? Where is he, and how ? I am getting fearfully 
anxious about him. If I only knew what to do, and could 
do anything ! 

io August . — The funeral of the poor sea-captain to-day 
was most touching. Every boat in the harbour seemed to 
be there, and the coffin was carried by captains all the way 
from Tate Hill Pier up to the churchyard. Lucy came with 
me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst the cortege of 
boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down again. 
We had a lovely view* and saw the j>ro£ession nearly all the 


Cutting from “ The Dailygraph ” 89 

way. The poor fellow was laid to rest quite near our seat, 
so that we stood on it when the time came and saw every- 
thing. Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless 
and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her 
dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one 
thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for 
restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it her- 
self. There is an additional cause in that poor old Mr. 
Swales was found dead this morning on our seat, his neck 
being broken. He had evidently, as the doctor said, fallen 
back in the seat in some sort of fright, for there was a look 
of fear and horror on his face that the men said made them 
shudder. Poor dear old man ! Perhaps he had seen Death 
with his dying eyes ! Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she 
feels influences more acutely than other people do. Just 
now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did not 
much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals. One 
of the men who came up here often to look for the boats was 
followed by his dog. The dog is always with him. They are 
both quiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor 
heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not 
come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a 
few yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it 
gently, and then harshly, and then angrily; but it would 
neither come nor cease to make a noise. It was in a sort of 
fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs bristling out like 
a cat’s tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally the man, 
too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the 
dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and 
half dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the 
seat is fixed. The moment it touched the stone the poor 
thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It did not try 
to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, 
and was in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though 
without effect, to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but 
she did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an 
agonised sort of way. I greatly fear that she is of too super- 
sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. 
She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The whole 
agglomeration of things — the ship steered into port by a 
dead man ; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and 
beads ; the touching funeral ; the dog, now furious and now 
in terror — will all afford material for her dreams. 


Dracula 


90 

I think it will be best for her to go to bed tired out physi- 
cally, so I shall take her for a long walk by the cliffs to Robin 
Hood’s Bay and back. She ought not to have much inclina- 
tion for sleep-walking then. 


CHAPTER Vin 

mina Murray's journal 

Same day, 1 1 o’clock p.m . — Oh, but I am tired ! If it were 
not that I had made my diary a duty I should not open it to- 
night. We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was in 
gay spirits, owing, I think, to some dear cows who came 
nosing towards us in a field close to the lighthouse, and 
frightened the wits out of us. I believe we forgot every- 
thing, except, of course, personal fear, and it seemed to wipe 
the slate clean and give us a fresh start. We had a capital 
“severe tea” at Robin Hood’s Bay in a sweet little old-fash- 
ioned inn, with a bow-window right over the seaweed-cov- 
ered rocks of the strand. I believe we should have shocked 
the “New Woman” with our appetites. Men are more tole- 
rant, bless them ! Then we walked home with some, or 
rather many, stoppages to rest, and with our hearts full of a 
constant dread of wild bulls. Lucy was really tired, and 
we intended to creep off to bed as soon as we could. The 
young curate came in, however, and Mrs. Westenra asked 
him to stay for supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it 
with the dusty miller ; I know it was a hard fight on my part, 
and I am quite heroic. I think that some day the bishops 
must get together and see about breeding up a new class of 
curates, who don’t take supper, no matter how they may be 
pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy 
is asleep and breathing softly. She has more colour in her 
cheeks than usual, and looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holm- 
wood fell in love with her seeing her only in the drawing- 
room, I wonder what he would say if he saw her now. Some 
of the “New Women” writers will some day start an idea 
that men and women should be allowed to see each other 
asleep before proposing or accepting. But I suppose the 
New Woman won’t condescend in future to accept ; she will 
do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will make of 
it, too! There’s some consolation in that. I am so happy 
to-night, because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe 
she has turned the corner, and that we are over her troubles 


Dracula 


92 

with dreaming. I should be quite happy if I only knew il 
Jonathan .... God bless and keep him. 

11 August , 3 a.m . — Diary again. No sleep now, so I may 
as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such 
an adventure, such an agonising experience. I fell asleep as 
soon as I had closed my diary Suddenly I be- 

came broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear 
upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The 
room was dark, so I could not see Lucy’s bed ; I stole across 
and felt for her. The bed was empty. I lit a match, and 
found that she was not in the room. The door was shut, but 
not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her mother, 
who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some 
clothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the 
room it struck me that the clothes she wore might give me 
some clue to her dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would 
mean house ; dress, outside. Dressing-gown and dress were 
both in their places. “Thank God,” I said to myself, “she 
cannot be far, as she is only in her nightdress.” I ran down- 
stairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I 
looked in all the other open rooms of the house, with an ever- 
growing fear chilling my heart. Finally I came to the hall- 
door and found it open. It was not wide open, but the catch 
of the lock had not caught. The people of the house are 
careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that Lucy 
must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think 
of what might happen ; a vague, overmastering fear obscured 
all details. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock 
was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not 
a soul in sight. I ran along the North Terrace, but could see 
no sign of the white figure which I expected. At the edge 
of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour 
to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear — I don’t know which-^-* 
of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat. There was a bright 
full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds, which threw 
the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and shade 
as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see noth- 
ing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church 
and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the 
ruins of the abbey coming into view ; and as the edge of a 
narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, 
the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. 


I 


Mina Murray’s Journal 93 

Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for 
there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon 
struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming 
of the cloud was too quick for me to see much, for shadow 
shut down on light almost immediately ; but it seemed to me 
as though something dark stood behind the seat where the 
white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether 
man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch an- 
other glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and 
along by the fish-market to the bridge, which was the only 
way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as dead, for 
not a soul did I see; I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted 
no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The time and dis- 
tance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath 
came laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the abbey. 
Tmust have gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet 
were weighted with lead, and as though every joint in my 
body were rusty. When I got almost to the top I could see 
the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to 
distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. There was 
undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the 
half-reclining white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! 
Lucy !” and something raised a head, and from where I was 
I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did 
not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. 
As I entered, the church was between me and the seat, and 
for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view 
again ;he cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so 
brilliantly that I could see Lucy half reclining with her 
head lying over the back of the seat. She was quite alone, 
and there was not a sign of any living thing about. 

When I bent over her I could see that she was still 
asleep. Her lips were parted, and she was breathing — not 
softly, as usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps, as though 
striving to get her lungs full at every breath. As I came 
close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the collar 
of her nightdress close around her throat. Whilst she did so 
there came a little shudder through her, as though she felt 
the cold. I flung the warm shawl over her, and drew the 
edges tight round her neck, for I dreaded lest she should 
get some deadly chill from the night air, unclad as she was* 
I feared to wake her all at once, so, in order to have my 
hands free tliat I might help her, I fastened the shawl at he* 


Dracula 


94 

throat with a big safety-pin: but I must have been clumsy 
in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for by- 
and-by, when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand 
to her throat again and moaned. When I had her carefully 
wrapped up I put my shoes on her feet, and then began very 
gently to wake her. At first she did not respond ; but gradu- 
ally she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moan- 
ing and sighing occasionally. At last, as time was passing 
fast, and, for many other reasons, I wished to get her home 
at once, I shook her more forcibly, till finally she opened her 
eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, 
of course, she did not realise all at once where she was. Lucy 
always wakes prettily, and even at such a time, when her 
body must have been chilled with cold, and her mind some- 
what appalled at waking unclad in a churchyard at night, 
be did not lose her grace. She trembled a little, and clung 
to me ; when I told her to come at once with me home she 
rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. As we 
passed along, the gravel hurt my feet, and Lucy noticed me 
wince. She stopped and wanted to insist upon my taking 
my shoes; but I would not. However, when we got to the 
pathway outside the churchyard, where there was a puddle 
of water remaining from the storm, I daubed my feet with 
mud, using each foot in turn on the other, so that as we went 
home no one, in case we should meet any one, should notice 
my bare feet. 

Fortune favoured us, and we gor home without meeting a 
soul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, pass- 
ing along a street in front of us ; but we hid in a door till he 
had disappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep 
little closes, or “wynds,” as they call them in Scotland. My 
heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought I 
should faint. I was filled with anxiety about Lucy, not only 
for her health, lest she should suffer from the exposure, but 
for her reputation in case the story should get wind. When 
we got in, and had washed our feet, and had said a prayer of 
thankfulness together, I tucked her into bed. Before falling 
asleep she asked — even implored — me not to say a word to 
any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adven- 
ture. I hesitated at first to promise ; but on thinking of the 
state of her mother’s health, and how the knowledge of such 
a thing would fret her, and thinking, too, of how such a 
fitory might become distorted — nay, infallibly would — in cas« 


Mina Murray's Journal 95 

it should leak out, I thought it wiser to do so. I hope I did 
right. I have locked the door, and the key is tied to my 
wrist, so perhaps I shall not be again disturbed. Lucy is 
sleeping soundly ; the reflex of the dawn is high and far over 
the sea 

Same day, noon . — All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke 
her, and seemed not to have even changed her side. The ad- 
venture of the night does not seem to have harmed her ; on 
the contrary, it has benefited her, for she looks better this 
morning than she has done for weeks. I was sorry to notice 
that my clumsiness with the safety-pin hurt her. Indeed, 
it might have been serious, for the skin of her throat was 
pierced. I must have pinched up a piece of loose skin and 
have transfixed it, for there are two little red points like pin- 
pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a drop of 
blood. When I apologised and was concerned about it, she 
laughed and petted me, and said she did not even feel it. 
Fortunately it cannot leave a scar, as it is so tiny. 

Same day, night . — We passed a happy day. The air was 
clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We 
took our lunch to Mulgrave Woods, Mrs. Westenra driving 
by the road and Lucy and I walking by the cliff-path and 
joining her at the gate. I felt a little sad myself, for I could 
not but feel how absolutely happy it would have been had 
Jonathan been with me. But there ! I must only be patient. 
In the evening we strolled in the Casino Terrace, and heard 
some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie, and went to bed 
early. Lucy seems more restful than she has been for some 
time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and se- 
cure the key the same as before, though I do not expect any 
trouble to-night. 

12 August . — My expectations were wrong, for twice dur- 
ing the night I was wakened by Lucy trying to get out. She 
seemed, even in her sleep, to be a little impatient at finding 
the door shut, and went back to bed under a sort of protest. 
I woke with the dawn, and heard the birds chirping outside 
of the window. Lucy woke, too, and, I was glad to see, 
was even better than on the previous morning. All her old 
gaiety of manner seemed to have come back, and she came 
and snuggled in beside me. and told me all about Arthur,: / 


Dracula 


96 

told her how anxious I was about Jonathan, and then she 
tried to comfort me. Well, she succeeded somewhat, for, 
though sympathy can’t alter facts, it can help to make them 
more bearable. 

13 August . — Another quiet day, and to bed with the key 
on my wrist as before. Again I awoke in the night, and 
found Lucy sitting up in bed, still asleep, pointing to the 
window. I got up quietly, and pulling aside the blind, looked 
out. It was brilliant moonlight, and the soft effect of the 
light over the sea and sky — merged together in one great, 
silent mystery — was beautiful beyond words. Between me 
and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in 
great, whirling circles. Once or twice it came quite close, 
but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away 
across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back 
from the window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleep- 
ing peacefully. She did not stir again all night. 

14 August . — On the East Cliff, reading and writing all 
day. Lucy seems to have become as much in love with the 
spot as I am, and it is hard to get her away from it when it 
is time to come home for lunch or tea or dinner. This after- 
noon she made a funny remark. We were coming home for 
dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the 
West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally 
do. The setting sun, low down in the sky, was just dropping 
behind Kettleness ; the red light was thrown over on the 
East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe every- 
thing in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, 
and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself : — - 

“His red eyes again! They are just the same.” It was 
such an odd expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it 
quite startled me. I slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy 
well without seeming to stare at her, and saw that she was 
in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look on her face that I 
could not quite make out; so I said nothing, but followed 
her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat, 
whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little start- 
led myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger 
had great eyes Jike burning flames ; but a second look dis- 
pelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the 
windows of St. Mary’s Church behind our seat, and as the 


Mina Murray’s Journal 97 

sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the refraction 
and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I 
called Lucy’s attention to the peculiar effect, and she became 
herself with a start, but she looked sad all the same ; it maj 
have been that she was thinking of that terrible night up 
there. We never refer to it; so I said nothing, and we went 
home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early to bed. 
I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself ; I 
walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of 
sweet sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When com- 
ing home — it was then bright moonlight, so bright that, 
though the front of our part of the Crescent was in shadow, 
everything could be well seen — I threw a glance up at our 
window, and saw Lucy’s head leaning out. I thought that 
perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my hand- 
kerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any 
movement whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round 
an angle of the building, and the light fell on the window. 
There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up against 
the side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She was fast 
asleep, . and by her, seated on the window-sill, was something 
that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid she might 
get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she 
was moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing 
heavily ; she was holding her hand to her throat, as though 
to protect it from cold. 

I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly; I have 
taken care that the door is locked and the window securely 
fastened. 

She looks so sweet as she sleeps ; but she is paler than is 
her wont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes 
which I do not like. I fear she is fretting about something. 
I wish I could find out what it is. 

15 August . — Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid 
and tired, and slept on after we had been called. We had 
a happy surprise at breakfast. Arthur’s father is better, and 
wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucy is full of quiet 
joy, and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later on in 
the day she told me the cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy 
as her very own, but she is rejoiced that she is soon to have 
some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady ! She con- 
fided to me that she has got her death-warrant. She has not 

( 7 ) 


Dracula 


9 8 

told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy; her doctor told 
her that within a few months, at most, she must die, for her 
heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock 
would be almost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep 
from her the affair of the dreadful night of Lucy’s sleep- 
walking. 

17 August. — No diary for two whole days. I have not 
had the heart to write. Some sort of shadowy pall seems 
to be coming over our happiness. No news from Jonathan, 
and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst her mother’s 
hours are numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy’s 
fading away as she is doing. She eats well and sleeps well, 
and enjoys the fresh air; but all the time the roses in her 
cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more languid 
day by day ; at night I hear her gasping as if for air. I keep 
the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at night, but 
she gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open 
window. Last night I found her leaning out when I woke 
up, and when I tried to wake her I could not ; she was in a 
faint. When I managed to restore her she was as weak as 
water, and cried silently between long, painful struggles for 
breath. When I asked her how she came to be at the win- 
dow she shook her head and turned away. I trust her feel- 
ing ill may not be from that unlucky prick of the safety pin. 
I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep, and the tiny 
wounds seem not to have healed. They are still open, and, 
if anything, larger than before, and the edges of them are 
faintly white. They are like little white dots with red cen- 
tres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall insist on 
the doctor seeing about them. 


Letter, Samuel F. Billington & Son, Solicitors, Whitby, to 
Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London. 


“17 August. 

“Dear Sirs,— 

“Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great 
Northern Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, 
near Purfleet, immediately on receipt at goods station King’s 
Cross. The house is at present empty, but enclosed please 
find keys, all of which are labelled. 

“You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which 


Mina Murray’s Journal 99 

form the consignment, in the partially ruined building form- 
ing part of the house and marked ‘A’ on rough diagram en- 
closed. Your agent will easily recognise the locality, as it is 
the ancient chapel of the mansion. The goods leave by the 
train at 9:30 to-night, and will be due at King’s Cross at 
4:30 to-morrow afternoon. As our client wishes the de- 
livery made as soon as possible, we shall be obliged by your 
having teams ready at King’s Cross at the time named and 
forthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to 
obviate any delays possible through any routine require- 
ments as to payment in your departments, we enclose cheque 
herewith for ten pounds (£10), receipt of which please ac- 
knowledge. Should the charge be less than this amount, 
you can return balance; if greater, we shall at once send 
cheque for difference on hearing from you. You are to 
leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the house, 
where the proprietor may get them on his entering the house 
by means of his duplicate key. 

“Pray do not take us as exceeding the bounds of business 
courtesy in pressing you in all ways to use the utmost ex- 
pedition. “We are, dear Sirs, 

“Faithfully yours, 

“Samuel F. Billington & Son. 

Letter, Messrs. Carter, Paterson & Co., London, to Messrs. 

Billington & Son, Whitby. 

“21 August. 

“Dear Sirs, — 

“We beg to acknowledge £10 received and to return 
cheque £1 1 js. 9 d., amount of overplus, as shown in receipted 
account herewith. Goods are delivered in exact accordance 
with instructions, and keys left in parcel in main hall, as di- 
rected. “We are, dear Sirs, 

“Yours respectfully, 

<( Pro Carter, Paterson & Co/' 

Mina Murray's Journal 

18 August. — I am happy to-day, and write sitting on the 
seat in the churchyard. Lucy is ever so much better. Last 
night she slept well all night, and did not disturb me once. 
The roses seem coming back already to her cheeks, though 
ehe is still sadly pale and wan-looking. If she were in any 


too 


Dracula 


way anaemic I could understand it, but she is not. She is i ft 
gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness. All the morbid 
reticence seems to have passed from her, and she has just 
reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of that night, 
and that it was here, on this very seat, I found her asleep. 
As she told me she tapped playfully with the heel of her boot 
on the stone slab and said : — 

“My poor little feet didn’t make much noise then ! I dare- 
say poor old Mr. Swales would have told me that it was be- 
cause I didn’t want to wake up Geordie.” As she was in 
such a communicative humour, I asked her if she had 
dreamed at all that night. Before she answered, that sweet, 
puckered look came into her forehead, which Arthur — I call 
him Arthur from her habit — says he loves; and, indeed, I 
don’t wonder that he does. Then she went on in a half- 
dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to herself : — • 
“I didn’t quite dream ; but it all seemed to be real. I only 
wanted to be here in this spot — I don’t know why, for I was 
afraid of something — I don’t know what. I remember 
though I suppose I was asleep, passing through the streets 
and over the bridge. A fish leaped as I went by, and I 
leaned over to look at it, and I heard a lot of dogs howling 
— the whole town seemed as if it must be full of dogs all 
howling at once — as I went up the steps. Then I had a 
vague memory of something long and dark with red eyes, 
just as we saw in the sunset, and something very sweet and 
very bitter all around me at once; and then I seemed sink- 
ing into deep green water, and there was a singing in my 
ears, as I have heard there is to drowning men; and then 
everything seemed passing away from me ; my soul seemed 
to go out from my body and float about the air. I seem to 
remember'that once the West Lighthouse was right under 
me, and then there was a sort of agonising feeling, as if I 
were in an earthquake, and I came back and found you shak- 
ing my body. I saw you do it before I felt you.” 

Then she began to laugh. It seemed a little uncanny to 
me, and I listened to her breathlessly. I did not quite like 
it, and thought it better not to keep her mind on the subject, 
so we drifted on to other subjects, and Lucy was like her 
old self again. When we got home the fresh breeze had 
braced her up, and her pale cheeks were really more rosy. 
Her mother rejoiced when she saw her, and we all spent a 
»rery happy evening together. 


tot 


Mina Murray's Journal 

\ 

19 August. — Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, 
news of Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why 
he did not write. I am not afraid to think it or say it, now 
that I know. Mr. Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote 
himself, oh, so kindly. I am to leave in the morning and 
go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary, 
and to bring him home. Mr. Hawkins says it would not be 
a bad thing if we were to be married out there. I have 
cried over the good Sister’s letter till I can feel it wet against 
my bosom, where it lies. It is of Jonathan, and must be next 
my heart, for he is in my heart. My journey is all mapped 
out, and my luggage ready. I am only taking one change 
of dress ; Lucy will bring my trunk to London and keep it 
till I send for it, for it may be that - ... I must write 

no more; I must keep it to say to Jonathan, my husband. 
The letter that he has seen and touched must comfort me till 
we meet. 

Letter, Sister Agatha, Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, 
Buda-Pesth, to Miss Wilhelmina Murray. 

“12 August . 

“Dear Madam, — 

“I write by desire of Mr. Jonathan Harker, who is him- 
self not strong enough to write, though progressing well, 
thanks to God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary. He has been 
under our care for nearly six weeks, suffering from a violent 
brain fever. He wishes me to convey his love, and to say 
that by this post I write for him to Mr. Peter Hawkins, Exe- 
ter, to say, with his dutiful respects, that he is sorry for his 
delay, and that all of his work is completed. He will require 
some few weeks’ rest in our sanatorium in the hills, but will 
then return. He wishes me to say that he has not sufficient 
money with him, and that he would like to pay for his stay- 
ing here, so that others who need shall not be wanting for 
help. “Believe me, 

“Yours, with sympathy and all blessings, 

“Sister Agatha. 

“P.S. — My patient being asleep, I open this to let you 
know something more. He has told me all about you, and 
that you are shortly to be his wife. All blessings to you 
both ! He has had some fearful shock— so says our doctor 


102 


Dracula 


— and in his delirium his ravings have been dreadful ; of 
wolves and poison and blood ; of ghosts and demons ; and I 
fear to say of what. Be careful with him always that there 
may be nothing to excite him of this kind for a long time 
to come; the traces of such an illness as his do not lightly 
die away. We should have written long ago, but we knew 
nothing of his friends, and there was on him nothing that 
any one could understand. He came in the train from Klau- 
senburg, and the guard was told by the station-master there 
that he rushed into the station shouting for a ticket for home. 
Seeing from his violent demeanour that he was English, they 
gave him a ticket for the furthest station on the way thither 
that the train reached. 

“Be assured that he is well cared for. He has won all 
hearts by his sweetness and gentleness. He is truly getting 
on well, and I have no doubt will in a few weeks be all him- 
self. But be careful of him for safety’s sake. There are, I 
pray God and St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, many, many, happy 
years for you both.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

19 August . — Strange and sudden change in Renfield last 
night. About eight o’clock he began to get excited and to 
sniff about as a dog does when setting. The attendant was 
struck by his manner, and knowing my interest in him, en- 
couraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the at- 
tendant, and at times servile ; but to-night, the man tells me, 
he was quite haughty; Would not condescend to talk with 
him at all. All he would say was : — 

“I don’t want to talk to you: you don’t count now; the 
Master is at hand.” 

, The attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious 
mania which has seized him. If so, we must look out for 
squalls, for a strong man with homicidal and religious mania 
at once might be dangerous. The combination is a dreadful 
one. At nine o’clock I visited him myself. His attitude to 
me was the same as that to the attendant ; in his sublime 
self-feeling the difference between myself and attendant 
seemed to him as nothing. It looks like religious mania, and 
he will soon think that he himself is God. These infinitesi- 
mal distinctions between man and man are too paltry for an 
Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves 


Mina Murray’s Journal 1 03 

away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but 
the God created from human vanity sees no difference be- 
tween an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men only knew ! 

For half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in 
greater and greater degree. I did not pretend to be watch- 
ing him, but I kept strict observation all the same. All at 
once that shifty look came into his eyes which we always see 
when a madman has seized an idea, and with it the shifty 
movement of the head and back which asylum attendants 
come to know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and 
sat on the edge of his bed resignedly, and looked into space 
with lack-lustre eyes. I thought I would find out if his 
apathy were real or only assumed, and tried to lead him to 
talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed to excite his 
attention. At first he made no reply, but at length said 
testily : — 

“Bother them all ! I don’t care a pin about them.” 

“What?” I said. “You don’t mean to tell me you don’t 
care about spiders?” (Spiders at present are his hobby, and 
the note-book is filling up with columns of small figures.) 
To this he answered enigmatically: — 

“The bride-maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the coming 
of the bride; but when the bride draweth nigh, then the 
maidens shine not to the eyes that are filled.” 

He would not explain himself, but remained obstinately 
seated on his bed all the time I remained with him. 

I am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think 
of Lucy, and how different things might have been. If I 
don’t sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus— 
C 8 HCL O. H 8 O! I must be careful not to let it grow into 
a habit. No, I shall take none to-night ! I have thought of 
Lucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If 
need be, to-night shall be sleepless 

Later . — Glad I made the resolution ; gladder that I kept to 
it. I had lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike 
only twice, when the night-watchman came to me, sent up 
from the ward, to say that Renfield had escaped. I threw on 
my clothes and ran down at once ; my patient is too danger- 
ous a person to be roaming about. Those ideas of his might 
work out dangerously with strangers. The attendant was 
waiting for me. He said he had seen him not ten minutes 
before, seemingly asleep in his bed, when he had looked 


Dracula 


104 

through the observation-trap in the door. His attention wa9 
called by the sound of the window being wrenched out. He 
ran back and saw his feet disappear through the window, and 
had at once sent up for me. He was only in his night-gear, 
and cannot be far off. The attendant thought it would be 
more useful to watch where he should go than to follow him, 
as he might lose sight of him whilst getting out of the build- 
ing by the door. He is a bulky man, and couldn't get through 
the window. I am thin, so, with his aid, I got out, but feet 
foremost, and, as we were only a few feet above ground, 
landed unhurt. The attendant told me the patient had gone 
to the left, and had taken a straight line, so I ran as quickly 
as I could. As I got through the belt of trees I saw a white 
figure scale the high wall which separates our grounds from 
those of the deserted house. 

I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four 
men immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax, 
in case our friend might be dangerous. I got a ladder my- 
self, and crossing the wall, dropped down on the other side. 
I could see Renfield’s figure just disappearing behind the 
angle of the house, so I ran after him. On the far side of 
the house I found him pressed close against the old iron- 
bound oak door of the chapel. He was talking, apparently 
to some one, but I was afraid to go near enough to hear what 
he was saying, lest I might frighten him, and he should run 
off. Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to follow- 
ing a naked lunatic, when the fit of escaping is upon him ! 
After a few minutes, however, I could see that he did not 
take note of anything around him, and so ventured to draw 
nearer to him — the more so as my men had now crossed the 
wall and were closing him in. I heard him say : — 

“I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, 
and You will reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have wor- 
shipped You long and afar off. Now that You are near, I 
await Your commands, and You will not pass me by, will 
You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?" 

He is a selfish old beggar anyhow. He thinks of the loaves 
and fishes even when he believes he is in a Real Presence. 
His manias make a startling combination. When we closed 
in on him he fought like a tiger. He is immensely strong, 
and he was more like a wild beast than a man. I never saw 
a lunatic in such a paroxysm of rage before ; and I hope I 
shall not again. It is a mercy that we have found out his 


Mina Murray’s Journal 105 

strength and his danger in good time. With strength and 
determination like his, he might have done wild work before 
he was caged. He is safe now at any rate. Jack Sheppard 
himself couldn’t get free from the strait-waistcoat that keeps 
him restrained, and he’s chained to the wall in the padded 
room. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that fol- 
low are more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn 
and movement. 

Just now he spoke coherent words for the first time: — 

“I shall be patient, Master. It is coming — coming — 
coming l” 

So I took the hint, and came too. I was too excited to 
sleep, but this diary has quieted me, and I feel I shall get 
some sleep to-night. 


CHAPTER IX 

Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra . 

“Buda-Pesth, 24 August . 

“My dearest Lucy, — 

“I know you will be anxious to hear all that has happened 
since we parted at the railway station at Whitby. Well, my 
dear, I got to Hull all right, and caught the boat to Hom- 
burg, and then the train on here. I feel that I can hardly 
recall anything of the journey, except that I knew I was 
coming to Jonathan, and, that as I should have to do some 

nursing, I had better get all the sleep I could I found 

my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All 
the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet 
dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is 
only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything 
that has happened to him for a long time past. At least, ho 
wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask. He has had 
some terrible shock, and I fear it might tax his poor brain if 
he were to try to recall it. Sister Agatha, who is a good 
creature and a born nurse, tells me that he raved of dreadful 
things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me 
what they were ; but she would only cross herself, and say 
she would never tell ; that the ravings of the sick were the 
secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation 
should hear them, she should respect her trust. She is a 
sweet, good soul, and the next day, when she saw I was trou- 
bled, she opened up the subject again, and after saying that 
3he could never mention what my poor dear raved about, 
added: T can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not 
about anything which he has done wrong himself ; and you, 
as his wife to be, have no cause to be concerned. He has not 
forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear was of great 
and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.’ I do be- 
lieve the dear soul thought I might be jealous lest my poor 
dear should have fallen in love with any other girl." The 
idea of my being jealous about Jonathan! And yet, my 
dear, let me whisper, I felt a thrill of joy through me when 
J knew that no other woman was a cause of trouble. I am 

*06 


Letters, Etc. 1 07 

now sitting by his bedside, where I can see his face while he 
sleeps. He is waking! .... 

“When he woke he asked me for his coat, as he wanted to 
get something from the pocket ; I asked Sister Agatha, and 
she brought all his things. I saw that amongst them was 
his note-book, and was going to ask him to let me look at it 
— for I knew then that I might find some clue to his trouble 
— but I suppose he must have seen my wish in my eyes, for 
he sent me over to the window, saying he wanted to be quite 
alone for a moment. Then he called me back, and when I 
came he had his hand over the note-book, and he said to me 
very solemnly: — 

“ ‘Wilhelmina’ — I knew then that he was in deadly ear- 
nest, for he has never called me by that name since he asked 
me to marry him — ‘you know, dear, my ideas of the trust 
between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no 
concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to 
think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not 
know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You 
know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The 
secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take 
up my life here, with our marriage/ For, my dear, we had 
decided to be married as soon as the formalities are complete. 
‘Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here 
is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but 
never let me know ; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should 
come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, 
sane or mad, recorded here/ He fell back exhausted, and I 
put the book under his pillow, and kissed him I have asked 
Sister Agatha to beg the Superior to let our wedding be this 
afternoon, and am waiting her reply 

“She has come and told me that the chaplain of the Eng- 
lish mission church has been sent for. We are to be married 
in an hour, or as soon after as Jonathan awakes 

“Lucy’ the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but 
very, very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and 
all was ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. 
He answered his T will’ firmly and strongly. I could hardly 
speak ; my heart was so full that even those words seemed to 
choke me. The dear sisters were so kind. Please God, I 
$hall never, never forget them, nor the grave and sweet tw 


Dracula 


'108 

sponsibilities I have taken upon me. I must tell you of my 
wedding present. When the chaplain and the sisters had 
left me alone with my husband — oh, Lucy, it is the first time 
I have written the words ‘my husband’ — left me alone with 
my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and 
wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of 
pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over 
the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wed- 
ding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, 
and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be 
an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we 
trusted each other ; that I would never open it unless it were 
for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stem duty. 
Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it was the first 
time he took his wife's hand, and said that it was the dearest 
thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all 
the past again to win it, if need be. The poor dear meant 
to have said a part of the past ; but he cannot think of time 
yet, and I shall not wonder if at first he mixes up not only 
the month, but the year. 

“Well, my dear, what could I say? I could only tell him 
that I was the happiest woman in all the wide world, and that 
I had nothing to give him except myself, my life, and my 
trust, and that with these went my love and duty for all the 
days of my life. And, my dear, when he kissed me, and 
drew me to him with his poor weak hands, it was like a very 
solemn pledge between us 

“Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is 
not only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have 
been, and are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be 
your friend and guide when you came from the schoolroom 
to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now, and 
with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me ; 
so that in your own married life you too may be all happy 
as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be 
all it promises : a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind, 
no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no 
pain, for that can never be ; but I do hope you will be always 
as happy as I am now. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post 
this at once, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must 
stop, for Jonathan is waking — I must attend to my husband 1 
“Your ever-loving 


“Mina Harker." 


109 


Letters, Etc. 

Letter , Lucy Westenra to Mina Harker. 

‘ Whitby , 30 August. 

“My dearest Mina, — 

“Oceans of love and millions of kisses, and may you soon 
be in your own home with your husband. I wish you could 
be coming home soon enough to stay with us here. The 
strong air would soon restore Jonathan ; it has quite restored 
me. I have an appetite like a cormorant, am full of life, and 
sleep well. You will be glad to know that I have quite given 
up walking in my sleep. I think I have not stirred out of 
my bed for a week, that is when I once got into it at night. 
Arthur says I am getting fat. By the way, I forgot to tell 
you that Arthur is here. We have such walks and drives, 
and rides, and rowing, and tennis, and fishing together ; and 
I love him more than ever. He tells me that he loves me 
more, but I doubt that, for at first he told me that he couldn’t 
love me more than he did then. But this is nonsense. There 
he is, calling to me. So no more just at present from your 
loving “Lucy. 

“P. S. — Mother sends her love. She seems better, poor 
dear. 

“P. P. S. — We are to be married on 28 September.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

20 August . — The case of Renfield grows even more inter- 
esting. He has now so far quieted that there are spells of 
cessation from his passion. For the first week after his at- 
tack he was perpetually violent. Then one night, just as 
the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to him- 
self: “Now I can wait; now I can wait.” The attendant 
came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. 
He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, 
but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes 
had something of their old pleading — I might almost say, 
“cringing” — softness, I was satisfied with his present condi- 
tion, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesi- 
tated, but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It 
was a strange thing that the patient had humour enough to 
see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a whis- 
per, all the while looking furtively at them: — 


1 1 o Dracula 

“They think I could hurt you! Fancy me hurting youf 
The fools !” £ _ 

It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself 
dissociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the 
others ; but all the same I do not follow his thought. Am I 
to take it that I have anything in common with him, so that 
we are, as it were, to stand together ; or has he to gain from 
me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needful 
to him? I must find out later on. To-night he will not 
speak. Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat 
will not tempt him. He will only say: “I don’t take any 
stock in cats. I have more to think of now, and I can wait ; 
I can wait.” 

After a while I left him. The attendant tells me that he 
was quiet until just before dawn, and that then he began to 
get uneasy, and at length violent, until at last he fell into a 
paroxysm which exhausted him so that he swooned into a 
sort of coma. 


. . . . Three nights has the same thing happened — * 

violent all day then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish 
I could get some clue to the cause. It would almost seem as 
if there was some influence which came and went. Happy 
thought ! We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. 
He escaped before without our help ; to-night he shall escape 
with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men 
ready to follow in case they are required 

23 August . — “The unexpected always happens.” How 
well Disraeli knew life. Our bird when he found the cage 
open would not fly, so all our subtle arrangements were for 
nought. At any rate, we have proved one thing; that the 
spells of quietness last a reasonable time. We shall in future 
be able to ease his bonds for a few hours each day. I have 
given orders to the night attendant merely to shut him in the 
padded room, when once he is quiet, until an hour before 
sunrise. The poor soul’s body will enjoy the relief even if 
his mind cannot appreciate it. Hark! The unexpected 
again ! I am called ; the patient has once more escaped. 

Later . — Another night adventure. Renfield artfully waited 
until the attendant was entering the room to inspect. Then 
W dashed out past him and flew down the passage. I sent 


nr 


Letters, Etc. 

word for the attendants to follow. Again he went into the 
grounds of the deserted house, and we found him in the 
*ame place, pressed against the old chapel door. When he 
*aw me he became furious, and had not the attendants seized 
him in time, he would have tried to kill me As we were 
holding him a strange thing happened. He suddenly re- 
doubled his efforts, and then as suddenly grew calm. I 
looked round instinctively, but could see nothing. Then I 
caught the patient’s eye and followed it, but could trace 
nothing as it looked into the moonlit sky except a big bat, 
which was flapping its silent and ghostly way to the West. 
Bats usually wheel and flit about, but this one seemed to go 
straight on, as if it knew where it was bound for or had some 
intention of its own. The patient grew calmer every instant, 
and presently said : — 

“You needn’t tie me; I shall go quietly !” Without trou- 
ble we came back to the house. I feel there is something 
ominous in his calm, and shall not forget this night 

Lucy Westenra’s Diary 

Hillingham, 24 August . — I must imitate Mina, and keep 
writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we 
do meet. I wonder when it will be. I wish she were with 
me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I seemed to be 
dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the 
change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and hor- 
rid to me, for I can remember nothing; but I am full of 
vague fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur 
came to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and 
I hadn’t the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could 
sleep in mother’s room to-night. I shall make an excuse 
and try. 

25 August . — Another bad night. Mother did not seem to 
take to my proposal. She seems not too well herself, and 
doubtless she fears to worry me. I tried to keep awake, and 
succeeded for a while ; but when the clock struck twelve it 
waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling asleep. 
There was a sort of scratching or flapping at the window, but 
I did not mind it, and as I remember no more, I suppose I 
must then have fallen asleep. More bad dreams. I wish I 
could remember them. This morning I am horribly weak. 
My face is ghastly pale, and my throat pains me. It mu-s* 


f 12 


Dracula 


be something wrong with my lungs, for I don’t seem ever to 
get air enough. I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes, 
or else I know he will be miserable to see me so. 

Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. Seward. 

te Albemarle Hotel, 31 August. 

“My dear Jack, — 

“I want you to do me a favour. Lucy is ill ; that is, she 
has no special disease, but she looks awful, and is getting 
worse every day. I have asked her if there is any cause ; I 
do not dare to ask her mother, for to disturb the poor lady’s 
mind about her daughter in her present state of health would 
be fatal. Mrs. Westenra has confided to me that her doom is 
spoken — disease of the heart— though poor Lucy does not 
know it yet. I am sure that there is something preying on 
my dear girl’s mind. I am almost distracted when I think 
of her ; to look at her gives me a pang. I told her I should 
ask you to see her, and though she demurred at first — I know 
why, old fellow — she finally consented. It will be a painful 
task for you, I know, old friend, but it is for her sake, and I 
must not hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to 
lunch at Hillingham to-morrow, two o’clock, so as not to 
arouse any suspicion in Mrs. W estenra, and after lunch Lucy 
will take an opportunity of being alone with you. I shall 
come in for tea, and we can go away together; I am filled 
with anxiety, and want to consult with you alone as soon as 
I can after you have seen her. Do not fail ! “Arthur.” 

Telegram, Arthur Holmwood to Seward. 

“1 September. 

“Am summoned to see my father, who is worse. Am 
writing. Write me fully by to-night’s post to Ring. Wire 
me if necessary.” 

Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood . 

“2 September. 

“My dear old fellow, — 

“With regard to Miss Westenra’s health I hasten to let 
• you know at once that in my opinion there is not any func- 
tional disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the 


Letters, Etc. 113 

same time, I am not by any means satisfied with her appear- 
ance ; she is woefully different from what she was when I 
saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did 
not have full opportunity of examination such as I should 
wish ; our very friendship makes a little difficulty which not 
even medical science or custom can bridge over. I had bet- 
ter tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a 
measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I 
have done and propose doing. 

“I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her 
mother was present, and in a few seconds I made up my 
mind that she was trying all she knew to mislead her mother 
and prevent her from being anxious. I have no doubt she 
guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is. 
We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be 
cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, 
some real cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra 
went to lie down, and Lucy was left with me. We went into 
her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained, for 
the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door 
was closed, however, the mask fell from her face, and she 
sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her eyes 
with her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, 

I at once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis. 
She said to me very sweetly : — 

“ T cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself/ I 
reminded her that a doctor’s confidence was sacred, but that 
you were grievously anxious about her. She caught on to 
my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word. ‘Tell 
Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for myself, 
but all for him !’ So I am quite free. 

“I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I 
could not see the usual anaemic signs, and by a chance I was 
actually able to test the quality of her blood, for in opening a 
window which was stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her 
hand slightly with broken glass. It was a slight matter in 
itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secured a few 
drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitative 
analysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should 
infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other physical 
matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for anxi- 
ety; but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come , 
to the conclusion that it must be something mental. She 
W 


Dracula 


^4 

complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at times, 
and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, 
but regarding which she can remember nothing. She says 
that as a child she used to walk in her sleep, and that when in 
Whitby the habit came back, and that once she walked out in 
the night and went to the East Cliff, where Miss Murray 
found her ; but she assures me that of late the habit has not 
returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing 1 
know of ; I have written to my old friend and master, Pro- 
fessor Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much 
about obscure diseases as any one in the world. I have 
asked him to come over, and as you told me that all things 
were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you 
are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear 
fellow, is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too 
proud and happy to do anything I can for her. Van Helsing 
would, I know, do anything for me for a personal reason. 
So, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his 
wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is be- 
cause he knows what he is talking about better than any one 
else. He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of 
the most advanced scientists of his day; and he has, I be- 
lieve, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a 
temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution, self-com- 
mand and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and 
the kindliest and truest heart that beats — these form his 
equipment for the noble work that he is doing for mankind — 
work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide 
as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that 
you may know why I have such confidence in him. I have 
asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenra to- 
morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I 
may not alarm her mother by too early a repetition of my 
call. “Yours always, 

“John Seward." 

Letter , Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., 
etc., to Dr. Seward. 

“2 September 

“My good Friend, — 

“When I have received your letter I am already coming to 
you. By good fortune I can leave just at once, without 
wrong to any of those who have trusted me. Were fortune 


Letters, Etc. 1 1 5 

Other, then it were bad for those who have trusted, for I 
come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holds 
dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from 
my wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that 
knife that our other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did 
more for him when he wants my aids and you call for them 
than all his great fortune could do. But it is pleasure added 
to do for him, your friend ; it is to you that I come. Have 
then rooms for me at the Great Eastern Hotel, so that I mi,? 
be near to hand, and please it so arrange that we may sre 
the young lady not too late on to-morrow, for it is likely that 
I may have to return here that night. But if need be I shall 
come again in three days, and stay longer if it must. Till 
then good-bye, my friend John. “Van Helsing/' 

Letter , Dr. Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood. 

“3 September. 

“My dear Art, — 

“Van Helsing has come and gone. He came on with me 
to Hillingham, and found that, by Lucy’s discretion, her 
mother was lunching out, so that we were alone with her. 
Van Helsing made a very careful examination of the patient. 
He is to report to me, and I shall advise you, for of course 
I was not present all the time. He is, I fear, much con- 
cerned, but says he must think. When I told him of our 
friendship and how you trust to me in the matter, he said : 
‘You must tell him all you think. Tell him what I think, 
if you can guess it, if you will. Nay, I am not jesting. This 
is no jest, but life and death, perhaps more/ I asked what 
he meant by that, for he was very serious. This was when 
we had come back to town, and he was having a cup of tea 
before starting on his return to Amsterdam. He would not 
give me any further clue. You must not be angry with me, 
Art, because his very reticence means that all his brains are 
working for her good. He will speak plainly enough when 
the time comes, be sure. So I told him I would simply write 
an account of our visit, just as if I were doing a descriptive 
special article for The Daily Telegraph. He seemed not to 
notice, but remarked that the smuts in London were not quite 
so bad as they used to be when he was a student here. I am 
to get his report to-morrow if he can possible make it. In 
any case I am to have a letter 


Dracula 


1 1 6 

“Well, as to the visit. Lucy was more cheerful than on 
the day I first saw her, and certainly looked better. She had 
lost something of the ghastly look that so upset you, and her 
breathing was normal. She was very sweet to the professor 
(as she always is), and tried to make him feel at ease; 
though I could see that the poor girl was making a hard 
struggle for it. I believe Van Helsing saw it, too, for I saw 
the quick look under his bushy brows that I knew of old. 
Then he began to chat of. all things except ourselves and dis- 
eases and with such an infinite geniality that I could see poor 
Lucy’s pretense of animation merge into reality. Then, with- 
out any seeming change, he brought the conversation gently 
round to his visit, and suavely said : — 

“ ‘My dear young miss, I have the so great pleasure be- 
cause you are much beloved. That is much, my dear, even 
were there that which I do not see. They told me you were 
down in the spirit, and that you were of a ghastly pale. To 
them I say : “Pouf I” 9 And he snapped his fingers at me 
and went on : ‘But you and I shall show them how wrong 
they are. How can he’ — and he pointed at me with the same 
look and gesture as that with which once he pointed me out 
to his class, on, or rather after, a particular occasion which 
he never fails to remind me of — ‘know anything of a young 
ladies? He has his madams to play with, and to bring 
them back to happiness and to those that love them. It is 
much to do, and, oh, but there are rewards, in that we can 
bestow such happiness. But the young ladies ! He has no 
wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to 
the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many 
sorrows and the causes of them. So, my dear, we will send 
him away to smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you 
and I have little talk all to ourselves/ I took the hint, and 
strolled about, and presently the professor came to the win- 
dow and called me in. He looked grave, but said : ‘I have 
made careful examination, but there is no functional cause. 
With you I agree that there has been much blood lost ; it has 
been, but is not. But the conditions of her are in no way 
anaemic. I have asked her to send me her maid, that I may 
ask just one or two question, that so I may not chance to 
miss nothing. I know well what she will say. And yet 
there is cause ; there is always cause for everything. I must 
go back home and think. You must send to me the telegram 
every day; and if there be cause I shall come again. The 


Letters, Etc. 1 1 7 

disease — for not to be all well is a disease — interest me, and 
the sweet young dear, she interest me too. She charm me, 
and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.’ 

“As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when 
we were alone. And so now, Art, you know all I know. I 
shall keep stern watch. I trust your poor father is rallying. 
It must be a terrible thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be 
placed in such a position between two people who are both 
so dear to you. I know your idea of duty to your father, and 
you are right to stick to it ; but, if need be, I shall send you 
word to come at once to Lucy; so do not be over-anxious 
unless you hear from me” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

4 September . — Zoophagous patient still keeps up our in- 
terest in him. He had only one outburst and that was yes- 
terday at an unusual time. Just before the stroke of noon 
he began to grow restless. The attendant knew the symp- 
toms, and at once summoned aid. Fortunately the men came 
at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he 
became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him. 
In about five minutes, however, he began to get more and 
more quiet, and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in 
which state he has remained up to now. The attendant tells 
i*ne that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were really ap- 
palling ; I found my hands full when I got in, attending to 
some of the other patients who were frightened by him. 
Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds dis- 
turbed even me, though I was some distance away. It is 
now after the dinner-hour of the asylum, and as yet my pa- 
tient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-be- 
gone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than 
to show something directly. I cannot quite understand it. 

Later . — Another change in my patient. At five o’clock I 
looked in on him, and found him seemingly as happy and 
contented as he used to be. He was catching flies and eating 
them, and was keeping note of his capture by making nail- 
marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of padding. 
When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad 
conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be 
led back to his own room and to have his note-book again. I 
thought it well to humour him ; so he is back in his room. 


Dracula 


1 1 8 

♦ 

with tne window open. He has the sugar of his tea spread 
out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. 
He is not now eating them, but putting them into a box, as of 
old, and is already examining the corners of his room to find 
a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, 
for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to 
me ; but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked 
very sad, and said in a sort of far-away voice, as though say- 
ing it rather to himself than to me : — 

“All over! all over! Fie has deserted me. No hope for 
me now unless I do it for myself !” Then suddenly turning 
to me in a resolute way, he said: “Doctor, won’t you be 
very good to me and let me have a little more sugar ? I think 
it would be good for me.” 

“And the flies?” I said. 

“Yes ! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies ; therefore 
I like it.” And there are people who know so little as to 
think that madmen do not argue. I procured him a double 
supply, and left him as happy a man as, I suppose, any in the 
world. I wish I could fathom his mind. 

Midnight . — Another change in him. I had been to see 
Miss Westenra, whom I found much better, and had just 
returned, and was standing at our own gate looking at the 
sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. As his room 
is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than in the 
morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful 
smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights 
and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on 
foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim 
sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of 
breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all. 
I reached him just as the sun was going down, and from his 
window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less 
and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the 
hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is won- 
derful, however, what intellectual recuperative power luna- 
tics have, for within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly 
and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not to 
hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He 
went straight over to the window and brushed out the 
crumbs of sugar ; then he took his fly-box and emptied it 
CMJtside, and threw away the box ; then he shut the window. 


Letters, Etc. 119 

and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised 
me, so I asked him: “Are you not going to keep flies any 
more ?” 

“No,” said he ; “I am sick of all that rubbish !” He cer- 
tainly is a wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get 
some glimpse of his mind or of the cause of his sudden 
passion. Stop ; there may be a clue after all, if we can find 
why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noon and at sun- 
set. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun at 
periods which affects certain natures — as at times the moon 
does others? We shall see. 

Telegram , Seward , London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam. 
“4 September. — Patient still better to-day.” 

Telegram , Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam. 

“5 September — Patient greatly improved. Good appetite; 
sleeps naturally ; good spirits ; colour coming back.” 

Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam. 

“6 September. — Terrible change for the worse. Come at 
once ; do not lose an hour. I hold over telegram to Holm- 
wood till have seen you.” 


CHAPTER X 

Letter, Dr, Seward to Hon. Arthur Holmwood. 

“6 September, 

“My dear Art, — 

“My news to-day is not so good. Lucy this morning ha<$ 
gone back a bit. There is, however, one good thing which 
has arisen from it; Mrs. Westenra was naturally anxious 
concerning Lucy, and has consulted me professionally about 
her. I took advantage of the opportunity, and told her that 
my old master. Van Helsing, the great specialist, was coming 
to stay with me, and that I would put her in his charge con- 
jointly with myself; so now we can come and go without 
alarming her unduly, for a shock to her would mean sudden 
death, and this, in Lucy's weak condition, might be disas- 
trous to her. We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, 
my poor old fellow ; but, please God, we shall come through 
them all right. If any need I shall write, so that, if you do 
not hear from me, take it for granted that I am simply wait- 
ing for news. In haste. Yours ever, 

“John Seward." 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

7 September . — The first thing Van Helsing said to me 
when we met at Liverpool street was : — 

“Have you said anything to our young friend the lover 
of her?" 

“No," I said. “I waited till I had seen you, as I said in 
my telegram. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that 
you were coming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that 
I should let him know if need be." 

“Right, my friend," he said, “quite right ! Better he not 
know as yet ; perhaps he shall never know. I pray so ; but 
if it be needed, then he shall know all. And, my good friend 
John, let me caution you. You deal with the madmen. All 
men are mad in some way or the other ; and inasmuch as you 
deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God’s mad- 
men, too — the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen 
what you do nor why you do it ; you tell them not what you 

120 


121 


Letters, Etc. 

think. So you shall keep knowledge in its place, where it 
may rest — where it may gather its kind around it and breed. 
You and I shall keep as yet what we know here, and here.” 
He touched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then 
touched himself the same way. “I have for myself thoughts 
at the present. Later I shall unfold to you.” 

“Why not now?” I asked. “It may do some good; we 
may arrive at some decision.” He stopped and looked at 
me, and said : — 

“My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it 
has ripened — while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, 
and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint him with his 
gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub him between 
his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to 
you : ‘Look ! he’s good corn ; he will make good crop when 
the time comes/ ” I did not see the application, and told 
him so. For reply he reached over and took my ear in his 
hand and pulled it playfully, as he used long ago to do at lec- 
tures, and said : “The good husbandman tell you so then be- 
cause he knows, but not till then. But you do not find the 
good husbandman dig up his planted com to see if he grow ; 
that is for the children who play at husbandry, and not for 
those who take it as of the work of their life. See you now, 
friend John? I have sown my corn, and Nature has her 
work to do in making it sprout ; if he sprout at all, there’s 
some promise ; and I wait till the ear begins to swell.” He 
broke off, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he 
went on, and very gravely : — 

“You were always a careful student, and your case-book 
was ever more full than the rest. You were only student 
then ; now you are master, and I trust that good habit have 
not fail. Remember, my friend, that knowledge is stronger 
than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. Even if 
you have not kept the good practise, let me tell you that this 
case of our dear miss is one that may be — mind, I say may be 
— of such interest to us and others that all the rest may not 
make him kick the beam, as your peoples say. Take then 
good note of it. Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put 
down in record even your doubts and surmises. Hereafter 
it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. We 
learn from failure, not from success !” 

When I described Lucy’s symptoms — the same as before, 
but infinitely more marked— he looked very grave, but said 


122 


Dracula 


nothing. He took with him a bag in which were many itv 
struments and drugs, “the ghastly paraphernalia of our bene- 
ficial trade,” as he once called, in one of his lectures, the 
equipment of a professor of the healing craft. When we 
were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, 
but not nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature 
in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death 
has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case where 
any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from 
some cause or other, the things not personal — even the terri- 
ble change in her daughter to whom she is so attached — 
do not seem to reach her. It is something like the way 
Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of 
some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that 
which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an 
ordered selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn 
any one for the vice of egoism, for there may be deeper roots 
for its causes ton we have knowledge of. 

I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, 
and laid down a rule that she should not be present with 
Lucy or think of her illness more than was absolutely re- 
quired. She assented readily, so readily that I saw again 
the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I 
were shown up to Lucy’s room. If I was shocked when I 
saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her to-day. 
She was ghastly, chalkily pale ; the red seemed to have gone 
even from her lips and gums, and the bones of her face stood 
out prominently ; her breathing was painful to see or hear. 
Van Helsing’s face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows 
converged till they almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay 
motionless and did not seem to have strength to speak, so 
for a while we were all silent. Then Van Helsing beckoned 
to me, and we went gently out of the room. The instant we 
had closed the door he stepped quickly along the passage to 
the next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly 
in with him and closed the door. “My God !” he said ; “this 
is dreadful. There is no time to be lost. She will die for 
sheer want of blood to keep the heart’s action as it should be. 
There must be transfusion of blood at once. Is it you or 
me?” 

“I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me.” 

“Then get ready at once, I will bring up my bag. I am 
prepared.” 


Letters, Etc. 123 

I went downstairs with him, and as we were going there 
was a knock at the hall-door. When we reached the hall the 
maid had just opened the door, and Arthur was stepping 
quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying in an eager whis- 
per : — 

“Jack, I was so anxious. I read between 'the lines of your 
letter, and have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I 
ran down here to see for myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. 
Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you, sir, for coming.” 
When first the Professor’s eye had lit upon him he had been 
angry at my interruption at such a time ; but now, as he took 
in his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young 
manhood which seemed to emanate from him, his eyes 
gleamed. Without a pause he said to him gravely as he 
held out his hand : — 

“Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our 
dear miss. She is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do 
not go like that.” For he suddenly grew pale and sat down 
in a chair almost fainting. “You are to help her. You can 
do more than any that live, and your courage is your best 
help.” 

“What can I do?” asked Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me, 
and I shall do it. My life is hers, and I would give the last 
drop of blood in my body for her.” The Professor has a 
strongly humourous side, and I could from old knowledge 
detect a trace of its origin in his answer : — 

“My young sir, I do not ask so much as that — not the 
last!” 

“What shall I do?” There was fire in his eyes, and his 
open nostril quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him 
on the shoulder. “Come !” he said. “You are a man, and it 
is a man we want. You are better than me, better than my 
friend John.” Arthur looked bewildered, and the Professor 
went on by explaining in a kindly way : — 

“Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and 
blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have con- 
sulted ; and we are about to perform what we call transfusion 
of blood — to transfer from full veins of one to the empty 
veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he 
is the more young and strong than me” — here Arthur took 
my hand and wrung it hard in silence — “but, now you are 
here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil 
much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm 


1 24 Dracula 

and our blood not so bright than yours !” Arthur turned to 
him and said : — 

“If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you 
would understand ” 

He stopped, with a sort of choke in his voice. 

“Good boy!” said Van Helsing. “In the not-so-far-off 
you will be happy that you have done all for her you love. 
Come now and be silent. You shall kiss her once before it is 
done, but then you must go ; and you must leave at my sign. 
Say no word to Madame; you know how it is with her! 
There must be no shock; any knowledge of this would be 
one. Come !” 

We all went up to Lucy’s room. Arthur by direction re- 
mained outside. Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but 
said nothing. She was not asleep, but shfe was simply too 
weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoke to us ; that was all. 
Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laid them 
on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and 
coming over to the bed, said cheerily : — 

“Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like 
a good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. 
Yes.” She had made the effort with success. 

It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in 
fact, marked the extent of her weakness. The time seemed 
endless until sleep began to flicker in her eyelids. At last, 
however, the narcotic began to manifest its potency ; and she 
fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was satisfied he 
called Arthur into the, room, and bade him strip off his coat. 
Then he added : “You may take that one little kiss whiles I 
bring over the table. Friend John, help to me !” So neither 
of us looked whilst he bent over her. 

Van Helsing turning to me, said : 

“He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we 
need not defibrinate it.” 

Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Hel- 
sing performed the operation. As the transfusion went 
on something like life seemed to come back to poor Lucy’s 
cheeks, and through Arthur’s growing pallor the joy of his 
face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to grow 
anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur, strong 
man as he was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain 
Lucy’s system must have undergone that what weakened 
Arthur only partially restored her. But the Professor’s face 


Letters, Etc, 1 25 

was set, and he stood watch in hand and with his eyes fixed 
. now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my 
own heart beat. Presently he said in a soft voice : “Do not 
stir an instant. It is enough. You attend him; I will look 
to her.” When all was over I could see how much Arthur 
was weakened. I dressed the wound and took his arm to 
bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning 
round — the man seems to have eyes in the back of his 
head : — 

“The brave lover, I think deserve another kiss, which he 
shall have presently.” And as he had now finished his op- 
eration, he adjusted the pillow to the patient’s head. As he 
did so the narrow black velvet band which she seems always 
to wear round her throat, buckled with an old diamond 
buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little 
up, and showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not 
notice it, but I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath 
which is one of Van Helsing’s ways of betraying emotion. 
He said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying: 
“Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the 
port wine, and let him lie down a while. He must then go 
home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that he may be 
recruited of what he has so given to his love. He must not 
stay here. Hold! a moment. I may take it, sir, that you 
are anxious of result. Then bring it with you that in all 
ways the operation is successful. You have saved her life 
this time, and you can go home and rest easy in mind that 
all that can be is. I shall tell her all when she is well ; she 
shall love you none the less for what you have done. Good- 
bye.” 

When Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy 
was sleeping gently, but her breathing was stronger ; I could 
see the counterpane move as her breast heaved. By the bed- 
side sat Van Helsing, looking at her intently. The velvet 
band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in 
a whisper : — 

“What do you make of that mark on her throat?” 

“What do you make of it?” 

“I have not examined it yet,” I answered, and then and 
there proceeded to loose the band. Just over the external 
jugular vein there were two punctures, not large, but not 
wholesome-looking. There was no sign of disease, but the 
edges were white and worn-looking, as if by some tritura- 


126 


Dracula 


tion. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or what* 
ever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of 
blood ; but I abandoned the idea as soon as formed, for such 
a thing could not be. The whole bed would have been 
drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl must 
have lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the trans- 
fusion. 

“Well?” said Van Helsing. 

“Well,” said I, “I can make nothing of it.” The Pro- 
fessor stood up. “I must go back to Amsterdam to-night,” 
he said. “There are books and things there which I want. 
You must remain here all the night, and you must not let 
your sight pass from her.” 

“Shall I have a nurse?” I asked. 

“We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all 
night ; see that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. 
You must not sleep all the night. Later on we can sleep, you 
and I. I shall be back as soon as possible. And then we 
may begin.” 

“May begin?” I said. “What on earth do you mean?” 

“We shall see !” he answered as he hurried out. He came 
back a moment later and put his head inside the door and 
said with warning finger held up : — 

“Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and 
harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter !” 

Dr. Seward's Diary — continued. 

8 September . — I sat up all night with Lucy. The opiate 
worked itself off towards dusk, and she waked naturally; 
she looked a different being from what she had been before 
the operation. Her spirits even were good, and she was full 
of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of the absolute 
prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. 
Westenra that Dr. Van Helsing had directed that I should sit 
up with her she almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out 
her daughter’s renewed strength and excellent spirits. I 
was firm, however, and made preparations for my long vigil. 
When her maid had prepared her for the night I came in, 
having in the meantime had supper, and took a seat by the 
bedside. She did not in any way make objection, but looked 
at me gratefully whenever I caught her eye. After a long 
spell she seemed sinking off to sleep, but with an effort 
seemed to pull herself togot^^r and shook it off. This was 


Letters, Etc. 127 

repeated several times, with greater effort and with shorter 
pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that she did 
not want to sleep, so I tackled the subject at once: — 

“You do not want to go to sleep ?” 

“No ; I am afraid.” 

“Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all 
oave for.” 

“Ah, not if you were like me — if sleep was to you a pre* 
sage of horror!” 

“A presage of horror ! What on earth do you mean ?” 

“I don’t know ; oh, I don’t know. And that is what is 
so terrible. All this weakness comes to me in sleep; until I 
dread the very thought.” 

“But, my dear girl, you may sleep to-night. I am here 
watching you, and I can promise that nothing will happen.” 

“Ah, I can trust you !” I seized the opportunity, and said : 
“I promise you that if I see any evidence of bad dreams I 
will wake you at once.” 

“You will? Oh, will you really? How good you are to 
me. Then I will sleep !” And almost at the word she gave a 
deep sigh of relief, and sank back, asleep. 

All night long I watched by her. She never stirred, but 
slept on and on in a deep, tranquil, life-giving, health-giving 
sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breast rose and 
fell with the regularity of a pendulum. There was a smile on 
her face, and it was evident that no bad dreams had come to 
disturb her peace of mind. 

In the early morning her maid came, and I left her in her 
care and took myself back home, for I was anxious about 
many things. I sent a short wire to Van Helsing and to 
Arthur, telling them of the excellent result of the operation. 
My own work, with its manifold arrears, took me all day to 
clear off ; it was dark when I was able to inquire about my 
zoophagous patient. The report was good; he had been 
quite quiet for the past day and night. A telegram came 
from Van Helsing at Amsterdam whilst I was at dinner, sug- 
gesting that I should be at Hillingham to-night, as it might 
be well to be at hand, and stating that he was leaving by the 
night mail and would join me early in the morning. 

9 September . — I was pretty tired and worn out when I got 
to Hillingham. For two nights I had hardly had a wink of 
sleep, and my brain was beginning to feel that numbness 


128 


Dracula 


which marks cerebral exhaustion. Lucy was up and in 
cheerful spirits. When she shook hands with me she looked 
sharply in my face and said : — 

“No sitting up to-night for you. You are worn out. I am 
quite well again; indeed, I am; and if there is to be any 
sitting up, it is I who will sit up with you.” I would not ar- 
gue the point, but went and had my supper. Lucy came with 
me, and, enlivened by her charming presence, I made an ex- 
cellent meal, and had a couple of glasses of the more than 
excellent port. Then Lucy took me upstairs, and showed me 
a room next her own, where a cosy fire was burning. “Now,” 
she said, “you must stay here. I shall leave this door open 
and my door too. You can lie on the sofa for I know that 
nothing would induce any of you doctors to go to bed whilst 
there is a patient above the horizon. If I want anything I 
shall call out, and you can come to me at once.” I could not 
but acquiesce, for I was “dob-tired,” and could not have sat 
up had I tried. So, on her renewing her promise to call me 
if she should want anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot 
all about everything. 

Lucy West eras Diary. 

9 September . — I feel so happy to-night. I have been so 
miserably weak, that to be able to think and move about is 
like feeling sunshine after a long spell of east wind out of a 
steel sky. Somehow Arthur feels very, very close to me. I 
seem to feel his presence warm about me. I suppose it is 
that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our 
inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and 
strength give Love rein, and in thought and feeling he can 
wander where he wills. I know where my thoughts are. If 
Arthur only knew ! My dear, my dear, your ears must tingle 
&.s you sleep, as mine do waking. Oh, the blissful rest of 
last night! How I slept, with that dear, good Dr. Seward 
watching me. And to-night I shall not fear to sleep, since 
he is close at hand and within call. Thank everybody for 
being so good to me ! Thank God ! Good-night Arthur. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

10 September . — I was conscious of the Professor’s hand 
on my head, and started awake all in a second. That is one 
t>f the things that we learn in an asylum, at any rate. 


120 


Letters, Etc. 

“And how is our patient?” 

“Well, when I left her, or rather when she left me,” I an- 
swered. 

“Come, let us see,” he said. And together we went into 
the room. 

The blind was down, and I went over to raise it gently, 
whilst Van Helsing stepped, with his soft, cat-like tread, 
over to the bed. 

As I raised the blind, and the morning sunlight flooded 
the room, I heard the Professor’s low hiss of inspiration, and 
knowing its rarity, a deadly fear shot through my heart. As 
I passed over he moved back, and his exclamation of horror, 
“Gott in Himmel !” needed no enforcement from his ago- 
nised face. He raised his hand and pointed to the bed, and 
his iron face was drawn and ashen white. I felt my knees 
begin to tremble. 

There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy, 
more horribly white and wan-looking than ever. Even the 
lips were white, and the gums seemed to have shrunken back 
from the teeth, as we sometimes see in a corpse after a pro- 
longed illness. Van Helsing raised his foot to stamp in an- 
ger, but the instinct of his life and all the long years of habit 
stood to him, and he put it down again softly. “Quick !” he 
said. “Bring the brandy.” I flew to the dining-room, and 
returned with the decanter. He wetted the poor white lips 
with it, and together we rubbed palm and wrist and heart. 
He felt her heart, and after a few moments of agonising 
suspense said : — 

“It is not too late. It beats, though but feebly. All our 
work is undone; we must begin again. There is no young 
Arthur here now ; I have to call on you yourself this time, 
friend John.” As he spoke, he was dipping into his bag and 
producing the instruments for transfusion; I had taken off 
my coat and rolled up my shirt-sleeve. There was no pos- 
sibility of an opiate just at present, and no need of one; and 
so, without a moment’s delay, we began the operation. After 
a time — it did not seem a short time either, for the draining 
away of one’s blood, no matter how willingly it be given, is 
a terrible feeling — Van Helsing held up a warning finger. 
“Do not stir,” he said, “but I fear that with growing strength 
she may wake; and that would make danger, oh, so much 
danger. But I shall precaution take. I shall give hypo- 
dermic injection of morphia.” He proceeded then, swiftly 


Dracula 


13° 

and deftly, to carry out his intent. The effect on Lucy was 
not bad, for the faint seemed to merge subtly into the nar- 
cotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pride that I 
could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallid 
cheeks and lips. No man knows till he experiences it, what 
it is to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the veins of 
the woman he loves. 

The Professor watched me critically. “That will do,” 
he said. “Already?” I remonstrated. “You took a great 
deal more from Art.” To which he smiled a sad sort of 
smile as he replied : — 

“He is her lover, her fiance. You have work, much work, 
to do for her and for others ; and the present will suffice.” 

When we stopped the operation, he attended to Lucy, 
whilst I applied digital pressure to my own incision. I laid 
down, whilst I waited his leisure to attend to me, for I felt 
faint and a little sick. By-and-by he bound up my wound, 
and sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine for myself. 
As I was leaving the room, he came after me, and half whis- 
pered : — 

“Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover 
should turn up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It 
would at once frighten him and en jealous him, too. There 
must be none. So !” 

When I came back he looked at me carefully, and then 
said : — 

“You are not much the worse. Go into the room, and lie 
on your sofa, and rest awhile; then have much breakfast, 
and come here to me.” 

I followed out his orders, for I knew how right and wise 
they were. I had done my part, and now my next duty was 
to keep up my strength. I felt very weak, and in the weak- 
ness lost something of the amazement at what had occurred. 
I fell asleep on the sofa, however, wondering over and over 
again how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement, and 
how she could have been drained of so much blood with no 
sign anywhere to show for it. I think I must have continued 
my wonder in my dreams, for, sleeping and waking, my 
thoughts always came back to the little punctures in her 
throat and the ragged, exhausted appearance of their edges 
■ — tiny though they were. 

Lucy slept well into the day L and when she woke she was 
* irly well and strong, though not nearly so much so as the.* 


Letters, Etc. 131 

day before. When Van Helsing had seen her, he went out 
for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strict injunctions that 
1 was not to leave her for a moment. I could hear his voice 
in the hall, asking the way to the nearest telegraph office. 

Lucy chatted with me freely, and seemed quite uncon- 
scious that anything had happened. I tried to keep her 
amused and interested. When her mother came up to see 
her, she did not seem to notice any change whatever, but 
said to me gratefully : — 

'‘We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all you have done, 
but you really must now take care not to overwork yourself. 
You are looking pale yourself. You want a wife to nurse 
and look after you a bit ; that you do !” As she spoke, Lucy 
turned crimson, though it was only momentarily, for her 
poor wasted veins could not stand for long such an unwonted 
drain to the head. The reaction came in excessive pallor as 
she turned imploring eyes on me. I smiled and nodded, and 
laid my finger on my lips ; with a sigh, she sank back amid 
her pillows. 

Van Helsing returned in a couple of hours, and presently 
said to me: “Now you go home, and eat much and drink 
enough. Make yourself strong. I stay here to-night, and I 
shall sit up with little miss myself. You and I must watch 
the case, and we must have none other to know. I have 
grave reasons. No, do not ask them ; think what you will. Do 
not fear to think even the most not-probable. Good-night.” 

In the hall two of the maids came to me, and asked if 
they or either of them might not sit up with Miss Lucy. They 
implored me to let them; and when I said it was Dr. Van 
Helsing’s wish that either he or I should sit up, they asked 
me quite piteously to intercede with the “foreign gentle- 
man.” I was much touched by their kindness. Perhaps it is 
because I am weak at present, and perhaps because it was on 
Lucy’s account, that their devotion was manifested ; for over 
and over again have I seen similar instances of woman’s 
kindness. I got back here in time for a late dinner; went 
my rounds — all well ; and set this down whilst waiting for 
sleep. It is coming. 

1 1 September . — This afternoon I went over to Hillingham. 
Found Van Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy much bet- 
ter. Shortly after I had arrived, a big parcel from abroad 
came for the Professor. He opened it with much impress- 


132 Dracula 

ment — assumed, of course — and showed a great bundle ol 
white flowers. 

“These are for you, Miss Lucy,” he said. 

“For me ? Oh, Dr. Van Helsing !” 

“Yes, my dear, but not for you to play with. These are 
medicines.” Here Lucy made a wry face. “Nay, but they 
are not to take in a decoction or in nauseous form, so you 
need not snub that so charming nose, or I shall point out to 
my friend Arthur what woes he may have to endure in see- 
ing so much beauty that he so loves so much distort. Aha, 
my pretty miss, that bring the so nice nose all straight again, 
This is medicinal, but you do not know how. I put him in 
your window, I make pretty wreath, and hang him round 
your neck, so that you sleep well. Oh yes! they, like the 
lotus flower, make your trouble forgotten. It smell so like 
the waters of Lethe, and of that fountain of youth that the 
Conquistodores sought for in the Floridas, and find him all 
too late.” 

Whilst he was speaking, Lucy had been examining the 
flowers and smelling them. Now she threw them down, 
saying, with half-laughter and half-disgust: — 

“Oh, Professor, I believe you are only putting up a joke 
on me. Why, these flowers are only common garlic.” 

To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up and said with all his 
sternness, his iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meet- 
ing : — 

“No trifling with me ! I never jest ! There is grim pur- 
pose in all I do ; and I warn you that you do not thwart me. 
Take care, for the sake of others if not for your own.” Then 
seeing poor Lucy scared, as she might well be, he went on 
more gently : “Oh, little miss, my dear, do not fear me. I 
only do for your good ; but there is much virtue to you in 
those so common flowers. See, I place them myself in your 
room. I make myself the wreath that you are to wear. But 
hush ! no telling to others that make so inquisitive questions. 
We must obey, and silence is a part of obedience; and obe- 
dience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms that 
wait for you. Now sit still awhile. Come with me, friend 
John, and you shall help me deck the room with my garlic, 
which is all the way from Haarlem, where my friend Van- 
derpool raise herb in his glass-houses all the year. I had to 
telegraph yesterday, or they would not have been here.” 

We went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The 


Letters, Etc. 133 

Professor’s actions were certainly odd and not to be found 
in any pharmacopoeia that I ever heard of. First he fastened 
up the windows and latched them securely; next, taking a 
handful of the flowers, he rubbed them all over the sashes, 
as though to ensure that every whiff of air that might get in 
would be laden with the garlic smell. Then with the wisp 
he rubbed all over the jamb of the door, above, below, and at 
each side, and round the fireplace in the same way. It all 
seemed grotesque to me, and presently I said : — 

“Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for 
what you do, but this certainly puzzles me. It is well we 
have no sceptic here, or he would say that you were working 
some spell to keep out an evil spirit.” 

“Perhaps I am !” he answered quietly as he began to make 
the wreath which Lucy was to wear round her neck. 

We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, 
and when she was in bed he came and himself fixed the 
wreath of garlic round her neck. The last words he said to 
her were: — 

“Take care you do not disturb it; and even if the room 
feel close, do not to-night open the window or the door.” 

“I promise,” said Lucy, “and thank you both a thousand 
times for all your kindness to me ! Oh, what have I done to 
be blessed with such friends ?” 

As we left the house in my fly, which was waiting, Van 
Helsing said : — 

“To-night I can sleep in peace, and sleep I want — two 
nights of travel, much reading in the day between, and much 
anxiety on the day to follow, and a night to sit up, without 
to wink. To-morrow in the morning early you call for me, 
and we come together to see our pretty miss, so much more 
strong for my ‘spell’ which I have work. Ho ! ho !” 

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own con- 
fidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt 
awe and vague terror. It must have been my weakness that 
made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but I felt it all the 
more, like unshed tears. 


CHAPTER XI 
Lucy Westenra’s Diary . 

12 September . — How good they all are to me. I quite lov© 
that dear Dr. Van Helsing. I wonder why he was so anx- 
ious about these flowers. He positively frightened me, he 
was so fierce. And yet he must have been right, for I feel 
comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread being 
alone to-night, and I can go to sleep without fear. I shall 
not mind any flapping outside the window. Oh, the terri- 
ble struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; 
the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, 
with such unknown horrors as it has for me ! How blessed 
are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads ; to 
whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings 
nothing but sweet dreams. Well, here I am to-night, hop- 
ing for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with “vir- 
gin crants and maiden strewments.” I never liked garlic 
before, but to-night it is delightful ! There is peace in its 
smell ; I feel sleep coming already. Good-night, everybody. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

13 September . — Called at the Berkeley and found Van 
Helsing, as usual, up to time. The carriage ordered from 
the hotel was waiting. The Professor took his bag, which 
he always brings with him now. 

Let all be put down exactly. Van Helsing and I arrived 
at Hillingham at eight o’clock. It was a lovely morning ; the 
bright sunshine and all the fresh feeling of early autumn 
seemed like the completion of nature’s annual work. The 
leaves were turning to all kinds of beautiful colours, but had 
not yet begun to drop from the trees. When we entered we 
met Mrs. Westenra coming out of the morning room. She 
is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly and said : — 

“You will be glad to know that Lucy is better. The dear 
child is still asleep. I looked into her room and saw her, but 
did not go in, lest I should disturb her.” The Professor 

134 


Letters, Etc. 135 

smiled, and looked quite jubilant. He rubbed his hands to- 
gether, and said : — 

“Aha ! I thought I had diagnosed the case. My treatment 
is working/’ to which she answered : — 

“You must not take all the credit to yourself, doctor. 
Lucy’s state this morning is due in part to me.” 

“How do you mean, ma’am?” asked the Professor. 

“Well, I was anxious about the dear child in the night, 
and went into her room. She was sleeping soundly — so 
soundly that even my coming did not wake her. But the 
room was awfully stuffy. There were a lot of those horrible, 
strong-smelling flowers about everywhere, and she had ac- 
tually a bunch of them round her neck. I feared that the 
heavy odour would be too much for the dear child in her 
weak state, so I took them all away and opened a bit of the 
window to let in a little fresh air. You will be pleased with 
ner, I am sure.” 

She moved off into her boudoir, where she usually break- 
fasted early. As she had spoken, I watched the Professor’s 
face, and saw it turn ashen grey. He had been able to retain 
his self-command whilst the poor lady was present, for he 
knew her state and how mischievous a shock would be; he 
actually smiled on her as he held open the door for her to 
pass into her room. But the instant she had disappeared he 
pulled me, suddenly and forcibly, into the dining-room and 
closed the door. 

Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing 
break down. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of 
mute despair, and then beat his palms together in a helpless 
way; finally he sat down on a chair, and putting his hands 
before his face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobs that seemed 
to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raised 
his arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. 
“God ! God ! God !” he said. “What have we done, what has 
this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate 
amongst us still, sent down from the pagan world of old, that 
such things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, 
all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does such 
thing as lose her daughter body and soul ; and we must not 
tell her, we must not even warn her, or she die, and then 
both die. Oh, how we are beset ! How are all the powers 
of the devils against us !” Suddenly he jumped to his feet. 
“Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no 


Dracula 


13 6 

devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not ; we fight him 
all the same.” He went to the hall-door for his bag; and 
together we went up to Lucy's room. 

Once again I drew up the blind, whilst Van Helsing went 
towards the bed. This time he did not start as he looked on 
the poor face with the same awful, waxen pallor as before. 
He wore a look of stern sadness and infinite pity. 

“As I expected,” he murmured, with that hissing inspira- 
tion of his which meant so much. Without a word he went 
and locked the door, and then began to set out on the little 
table the instruments for yet another operation of transfu- 
sion of blood. I had long ago recognised the necessity, and 
begun to take off my coat, but he stopped me with a warning 
hand. “No !” he said. “To-day you must operate. I shall 
provide. You are weakened already.” As he spoke he took 
off his coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeve;. 

Again the operation; again the narcotic; again some re- 
turn of colour to the ashy cheeks, and the regular breathing 
of healthy sleep. This time I watched whilst Van Helsing 
recruited himself and rested. 

Presently he took an opportunity of telling Mrs. Westenra 
that she must not remove anything from Lucy’s room with- 
out consulting him ; that the flowers were of medicinal value, 
and that the breathing of their odour was a part of the sys- 
tem of cure. Then he took over the care of the case him- 
self, saying that he would watch this night and the next and 
would send me word when to come. 

After another hour Lucy waked from her sleep, fresh and 
bright and seemingly not much the worse for her terrible 
ordeal. 

What does it all mean? I am beginning to wonder if my 
long habit of life amongst the insane is beginning to tell upon 
my own brain, 

Lucy Westenra’s Diary. 

17 September . — Four days and nights of peace. I am get- 
ting so strong again that I hardly know myself. It is as if I 
had passed through some long nightmare, and had just 
awakened to see the beautiful sunshine and feel the fresh 
air of the morning around me. I have a dim half-remem- 
brance of long, anxious times of waiting and fearing ; dark- 
ness in which there was not even the pain of hope to make 
present distress more poignant ; and then long spells of oh- 


Letters, Etc. ^ 137 

livion, and the rising back to life as a diver coming up 
through a great press of water. Since, however, Dr. Van 
Helsing has been with me, all this bad dreaming seems to 
have passed away; the noises that used to frighten me out 
of my wits — the flapping against the windows, the distant 
voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that 
came from I know not where and commanded me to do I 
know not what — have all ceased. I go to bed now without 
any fear of sleep. I do not even try to keep awake. I have 
grown quite fond of the garlic, and a boxful arrives for me 
every day from Haarlem. To-night Dr. Van Helsing is go- 
ing away, as he has to be for a day in Amsterdam. But I 
need not be watched; I am well enough to be left alone. 
Thank God for mother’s sake, and dear Arthur’s, and for 
all our friends who have been so kind ! I shall not even feel 
the change, for last night Dr. Van Helsing slept in his chair 
a lot of the time. I found him asleep t%ice when I awoke ; 
but I did not fear to go tqjpleep again, although the boughs 
or bats or something flapped almost angrily against the win- 
dow-panes. 

“The Pall Mall Gazette ” 18 September. 

THE ESCAPED WOLF. 

PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF OUR INTERVIEWER. 

Interview with the Keeper in the Zoological Gardens. 

After many inquiries and almost as many refusals, and 
perpetually using the words '‘Pall Mall Gazette” as a sort of 
talisman, I managed to find the keeper of the section of the 
Zoological Gardens in which the wolf department is in- 
cluded. Thomas Bilder lives in one of the cottages in the 
enclosure behind the elephant-house, and was just sitting 
down to his tea when I found him. Thomas and his wife 
are hospitable folk, elderly, and without children, and if the 
specimen I enjoyed of their hospitality be of the average 
kind, their lives must be pretty comfortable. The keeper 
would not enter on what he called “business” until* the supper 
was over, and we were all satisfied. Then when the table 
was cleared, and he had lit his pipe, he said : — 

“Now, sir, you can go on and arsk me what you want. You’ll 
excoose me refoosin’ to talk of perfeshunal subjects afore 
meals. I gives the wolves and the jackals and the hyenas in 


1 38 Dracula 

all our section their tea afore I begins to arsk them ques- 
tions.” 

“How do you mean, ask them questions?” I queried, wish- 
ful to get him into a talkative humour. 

“ ’Ittin’ of them over the ’ead with a pole is one way ; 
scratchin’ of their hears is another, when gents as is flush 
wants a bit of a show-orf to their gals. I don’t so much 
mind the fust — the ’ittin’ with a pole afore I chucks in their 
dinner ; but I waits till they’ve ’ad their sherry and kawffee, 
so to speak, afore I tries on with the ear-scratchin’. Mind 
you,” he added philosophically, “there’s a deal of the same 
nature in us as in them theer animiles. Here’s you a-comin’ 
and arksin’ of me questions about my business, and I that 
grumpy-like that only for your bloomin’ ’arf-quid I’d ’a’ 
seen you blowed fust ’fore I’d answer. Not even when you 
arsked me sarcastic-like if I’d like you to arsk the Superin- 
tendent if you might arsk me auestions. Without offence, 
did I tell yer to go to ’ell?” 

“You did.” 

“An’ when you said you’d report me for usin’ of obscene 
language that was ’ittin’ me over the ’ead ; but the ’arf-quid 
made that all right. I weren’t a-goin’ to fight, so I waited 
for the food, and did with my ’owl as the wolves, and lions, 
and tigers does. But, Lor’ love yer ’art, now that the old 
’ooman has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, an’ rinsed 
me out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and I’ve lit hup, you 
may scratch my ears for all you’re worth, and won’t git even 
a growl out of me. Drive along with your questions. I 
know what yer a-comin’ at, that ’ere escaped wolf.” 

“Exactly. I want you to give me your view of it. Just tell 
me how it happened ; and when I know the facts I’ll get you 
to say what you consider was the cause of it, and how you 
think the whole affair will end.” 

“All right, guv’nor. This ’ere is about the ’ole story. That 
’ere wolf what we called Bersicker was one of three grey 
ones that came from Norway to Jamrach’s, which we 
bought off him four year ago. He was a nice well-behaved 
wolf, that never gave no trouble to talk of. I’m more sur- 
prised at ’im lor wantin’ to get out nor any other animile in 
the place. But, there, you can’t trust wolves no more nor 
women.” 

“Don’t you mind him, sir!” broke in Mrs. Tom, with a 
cheery laugh. “ ’E’s got mindin’ the animiles so long tha* 


Letters, Etc. 139 

blest if he ain’t like a old wolf ’isself! But there ain’t no 
’arm in ’im.” 

“Well, sir, it was about two hours after feedin’ yesterday 
when I first hear my disturbance. I was makin’ up a litter in 
the monkey-house for a young puma which is ill ; but when 
I heard the yelpin’ and ’owlin’ I kem away straight. There 
was Bersicker a-tearin’ like a mad thing at the bars as if he 
wanted to get out. There wasn’t much people about that 
day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, 
with a ’00k nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs 
runnin’ through it. He had a ’ard, cold look and red eyes, 
and I took a sort of mislike to him, for it seemed as if it was 
’im as they was hirritated at. He ’ad white kid gloves on ’is 
’ands, and he pointed out the animiles to me and says: 
‘Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.’ 

“ ‘Maybe it’s you,’ says 1, for I did not like the airs as he 
give ’isself. He didn’t git angry, as I ’oped he would, but 
he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full o* 
white, sharp teeth. ‘Oh no, they wouldn’t like me,’ ’e says. 

“ ‘Ow yes, they would,’ says I, a-imitatin’ of him. ‘They 
always likes a bone or two to clean their teeth on about tea- 
time, which you ’as a bagful.’ 

“Well, it was a odd thing, but when the animiles see us 
a-talkin’ they lay down, and when I went over to Bersicker 
he let me stroke his ears same as ever. That there man kem 
over, and blessed but if he didn’t put in his hand and stroke 
the old wolf’s ears too! 

“ ‘Tyke care,’ says I. ‘Bersicker is quick.’ 

“ ‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘I’m used to ’em !’ 

“ ‘Are you in the business yourself ?’ I says, tyking off my 
’at, for a man what trades in wolves, anceterer, is a good 
friend to keepers. 

“ ‘No.’ says he, ‘not exactly in the business, but I ’ave 
made pets of several.’ And with that he lifts his ’at as per- 
lite as a lord, and walks away. Old Bersicker kep’ a-lookin’ 
arter ’im till ’e was out of sight, and then went and lay down 
in a corner, and wouldn’t come hout the ’ole hevening. Well, 
larst night, so soon as the moon was hup, the wolves here 
all began a-’owling. There warn’t nothing for them to ’owl 
at. There warn’t no one near, except some one that was 
evidently a-callin’ a dog somewheres out back of the gar- 
dings in the Park road. Once or twice I went out to see 
that all was right, and it was, and then the ’owling stopped 


Dracula 


140 

Just before twelve o’clock I just took a look round afore 
turnin’ in, an’, bust me, but when I kem opposite to old Ber- 
sickens cage I see the rails broken and twisted about and 
the cage empty. And that’s all I know for certing.” 

“Did any one else see anything?” 

“One of our gard’ners was a-comin’ ’ome about that time 
from a ’armony, when he sees a big grey dog cornin’ out 
through the garding ’edges. At least, so he says ; but I don’t 
give much for it myself, for if he did ’e never said a word 
about it to his missis when ’e got ’ome, and it was only after 
the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had been up 
all night-a-huntin’ of the Park for Bersicker, that he remem- 
bered seein’ anything. My own belief was that the ’armony 
’ad got into his ’ead.” 

“Now, Mr. Bilder, can you account in any way for the es- 
cape of the wolf ?” 

“Well, sir,” he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, 
“I think I can; but I don’t know as ’ow you’d be satisfied 
with the theory.” 

“Certainly I shall. If a man like you, who knows the ani- 
mals from experience, can’t hazard a good guess at any rate, 
who is even to try?” 

“Well then, sir, I accounts for it this way ; it seems to me 
that ’ere wolf escaped — simply because he wanted to get 
out.” 

From the hearty way that both Thomas and his wife 
laughed at the joke I could see that it had done service be- 
fore, and that the whole explanation was simply an elabo- 
rate sell. I couldn’t cope in badinage with the worthy 
Thomas, but I thought I knew a surer way to his heart, so I 
said : — 

“Now, Mr. Bilder, we’ll consider that first half-sovereign 
worked off, and this brother of his is waiting to be claimed 
when you’ve told me what you think will happen.” 

“Right y’are, sir,” he said briskly. “Ye’ll excoose me, I 
know, for a-chaffin’ of ye, but the old woman here winked at 
me, which was as much as telling me to go on.” 

“Well, I never!” said the old lady. 

“My opinion is this: that ’ere wolf is a-’idin’ of, some- 
wheres. The gard’ner wot didn’t remember said he was 
a-gallopin’ northward faster than a horse could go; but I 
don’t believe him, for, yer see, sir, wolves don’t gallop no 
wore nor dogs does, they not bein’ built that way. Wolves 


Letters, Etc. 141 

is fine things in a story-book, and I dessa'y when they gets 
in packs and does be chivyin’ somethin’ that’s more afeared 
than they is they can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, 
whatever it is. But, Lor' bless you, in real life a wolf is only 
a low creature, not half so clever or bold as a good dog; and 
not half a quarter so much fight in ’im. This one ain’t been 
used to fightin’ or even to providin’ for hisself, and more like 
he’s somewhere round the Park a-’idin’ an’ a-shiverin’ of, 
and, if he thinks at all, wonderin’ where he is to get his 
breakfast from ; or maybe he’s got down some area and is in 
a coal-cellar. My eye, won’t some cook get a rum start when 
she sees his green eyes a-shining at her out of the dark! If 
he can’t get food he’s bound to look for it, and mayhap he 
may chance to light on a butcher’s shop in time. If he 
doesn’t, and some nursemaid goes a-walkin’ orf with a sol- 
dier, leavin’ of the hinfant in the perambulator — well then I 
shouldn’t be surprised if the census is one babby the less. 
That’s all.” 

I was handing him the half-sovereign, when something 
came bobbing up against the window, and Mr. Bilder’s face 
doubled its natural length with surprise. 

“God bless me!” he said. “If there ain’t old Bersicker 
come back by ’isself !” 

He went to the door and opened it ; a most unnecessary 
proceeding it seemed to me. I have always thought that a 
wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of 
pronounced durability is between us; a personal experience 
has intensified rather than diminished that idea. 

After all, however, there is nothing like custom, for 
neither Bilder nor his wife thought any more of the wolf 
than I should of a dog. The animal itself was as peaceful 
and well-behaved as that father of all picture-wolves — Red 
Riding Hood’s quondam friend, whilst moving her confi- 
dence in masquerade. 

The whole scene was an unutterable mixture of comedy 
and pathos. The wicked wolf that for half a day had par- 
alysed London and set all the children in the town shivering 
in their shoes, was there in a sort of penitent mood, and was 
received and petted like a sort of vulpine prodigal son. Old 
Bilder examined him all over with most tender solicitude, 
and when he had finished with his penitent said : — 

“There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some 
kind of trouble ; didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head all 


Dracula 


142 

cut and full of broken glass. ’E’s been a-gettin’ over some 
bloomin’ wall or other. It’s a shyme that people are allowed 
to top their walls with broken bottles. This ’ere’s what 
comes of it. Come along, Bersicker.” 

He took the wolf and locked him up in a cage, with a piece 
of meat that satisfied, in quantity at any rate, the elementary 
conditions of the fatted calf, and went off to report. 

I came off, too, to report the only exclusive information 
that is given to-day regarding the strange escapade at the 
Zoo. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

1 7 September . — I was engaged after dinner in my study 
posting up my books, which, through press of other work 
and the many visits to Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. 
Suddenly the door was burst open, and in rushed my pa- 
tient, with his face distorted with passion. I was thunder- 
struck, for such a thing as a patient getting of his own ac- 
cord into the Superintendent’s study is almost unknown. 
Without an instant’s pause he made straight at me. He had 
a dinner-knife in his hand, and, as I saw he was dangerous. 
I tried to keep the table between us. He was too quick and 
too strong for me, however; for before I could get my bal- 
ance he had struck at me and cut my left wrist rather se- 
verely. Before he could strike again, however, I got in my 
right, and he was sprawling on his back on the floor. My 
wrist bled freely, and quite a little pool trickled on to the 
carpet. I saw that my friend was not intent on further ef~ 
fort, and occupied myself binding up my wrist, keeping a 
wary eye on the prostrate figure all the time. When the at- 
tendants rushed in, and we turned our attention to him, his 
employment positively sickened me. He was lying on his 
belly on the floor licking up, like a dog, the blood which had 
fallen from my wounded wrist. He was easily secured, and, 
to my surprise, went with the attendants quite placidly, sim- 
ply repeating over an(J over again : “The blood is the life ! 
the blood is the life !” 

I cannot afford to lose blood just at present: I have lost 
too much of late for my physical good, and then the pro- 
longed strain of Lucy’s illness and its horrible phases is tell- 
ing on me. I am over-excited and weary, and I need rest, 
rest, rest. Happily Van Helsing has not summoned me, so 
I need not forego mv sleep; to-night I could not well do 
without it. 


Letters, Etc. 143 

Telegram , Van Helsing , Antwerp , to Seward, Carfax. 

( Sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given ; delivered late 
by twenty-two hours*) 

“17 September. — Do not fail to be at Hillingham to-night. 
If not watching all the time, frequently visit and see that 
flowers are as placed ; very important ; do not fail. Shall be 
with you as soon as possible after arrival.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

18 September. — Just off for train to London. The arrival 
of Van Helsing’s telegram filled me with dismay. A whole 
night lost, and I know by bitter experience what may happen 
in a night. Of course it is possible that all may be well, but 
what may have happened? Surely there is some horrible 
doom hanging over us that every possible accident should 
thwart us in all we try to do. I shall take this cylinder with 
me, and then I can complete my entry on Lucy’s phono- 
graph. 

Memorandum left by Lucy JVestenra. 

17 September. Night. — I write this and leave it to be 
seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble 
through me. This is an exact record of what took place to- 
night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely 
strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing. 

I went to bed as usual, taking care that the flowers were 
placed as Dr. Van Helsing directed, and soon fell asleep. 

I was waked by the flapping at the window, which had 
begun after that sleep-walking on the cliff at Whitby when 
Mina saved me, and which now I know so well. I was not 
afraid, but I did wish that Dr. Seward was in the next room 
— as Dr. Van Helsing said he would be — so that I might 
have called him. I tried to go to sleep, but could not. Then 
there came to me the old fear of sleep, and I determined to 
keep awake. Perversely sleep would try to come then when 
I did not want it; so, as I feared to be alone, I opened my 
door and called out : “Is there anybody there ?” There was 
no answer. I was afraid to wake mother, and so closed my 
door again. Then outside in the shrubbery I heard a sort of 
howl like a dog’s, but more fierce and deeper. I weqt to the 
window and looked out, but could see nothing, except a big 


Dracula 


i 44 

bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against 
the window. So I went back to bed again, but determined 
not to go to sleep. Presently the door opened, and mother 
looked in ; seeing by my moving that I was not asleep, came 
in, and sat by me. She said to me even more sweetly and 
softly than her wont : — 

“I was uneasy about you, darling, and came in to see that 
you were all right” 

I feared she might catch cold sitting there, and asked her 
to come in and sleep with me, so she came into bed, and lay 
down beside me ; she did not take off her dressing gown, for 
she said she would only stay a while and then go back to her 
own bed. As she lay there in my arms, and I in hers, the 
flapping and buffeting came to the window again. She was 
startled and a little frightened, and cried out: “What is 
that?” I tried to pacify her, and at last succeeded, and she 
lay quiet ; but I could hear her poor dear heart still beating 
terribly. After a while there was the low howl again out in 
the shrubbery, and shortly after there was a crash at the 
window, and a lot of broken glass was hurled on the floor. 
The window blind blew back with the wind that rushed in, 
and in the aperture of the broken panes there was the head 
of a great, gaunt grey wolf. Mother cried out in a fright, 
and struggled up into a sitting posture, and clutched wildly 
at anything that would help her. Amongst other things, she 
clutched the wreath of flowers that Dr. Van Helsing insisted 
on my wearing round my neck, and tore it away from me. 
For a second or two she sat up, pointing at the wolf, and 
there was a strange and horrible gurgling in her throat ; then 
she fell over, as if struck with lightning, and her head hit 
my forehead and made me dizzy for a moment or two. The 
room and all round seemed to spin round. I kept my eyes 
fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and 
a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in 
through the broken window, and wheeling and circling 
round like the pillar of dust that travellers describe when 
there is a simoom in the desert. I tried to stir, but there 
was some spell upon me, and dear mother’s poor body, which 
seemed to grow cold already — for her dear heart had ceased 
to beat — weighed me down ; and I remembered no more for 
a while. 

The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I 
recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing 


Letters, Etc. 145 

bell was tolling; the dogs all round the neighborhood were 
howling; and in our shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a 
nightingale was singing. I was dazed and stupid with pain 
and terror and weakness, but the sound of the nightingale 
seemed like the voice of my dead mother come back to com- 
fort me. The sounds seemed to have awakened the maids, 
too, for I could hear their bare feet pattering outside my door. 
I called to them, and they came in, and when they saw what 
had happened, and what it was that lay over me on the bed, 
they screamed out. The wind rushed in through the broken 
window, and the door slammed to. They lifted off the body 
of my dear mother, and laid her, covered up with a sheet, on 
the bed after I had got up. They were all so frightened and 
nervous that I directed them to go to the dining-room and 
have each a glass of wine. The door flew open for an instant 
and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went in 
a body to the dining-room ; and I laid what flowers I had on 
my dear mother’s breast. When they were there I remem- 
bered what Dr. Van Helsing had told me, but I didn’t like to 
remove them, and, besides, I would have some of the ser- 
vants to sit up with me now. I was surprised that the maids 
did not come back. I called them, but got no answer, so I 
went to the dining-room to look for them. 

My heart sank when I saw what had happened. They all 
four lay helpless on the floor, breathing heavily. The de- 
canter of sherry was on the table half full, but there was a 
queer, acrid smell about. I was suspicious, and examined 
the decanter. It smelt of laudanum, and looking on the 
sideboard, I found that the bottle which mother’s doctor uses 
for her — oh ! did use — was empty. What am I to do? what 
am I to do ? Iam back in the room with mother. I cannot 
leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, 
whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead ! I dare 
not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through 
the broken window. 

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the 
draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and 
dim. What am I to do? God shield me from harm this 
night ! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall 
find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother gone ! 
It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should 
not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help 
me! 

lie) 


CHAPTER XII 
dr. seward's diary 

18 September . — I drove at once to Hillingham and arrived 
early. Keeping my cab at the gate, I went up the avenue 
alone. I knocked gently and rang as quietly as possible, for 
I feared to disturb Lucy or her mother, and hoped to only 
bring a servant to the door. After a while, finding no re- 
sponse, I knocked and rang again ; still no answer. I cursed 
the laziness of the servants that they should lie abed at such 
an hour — for it was now ten o'clock — and so rang and 
knocked again, but more impatiently, but still without re- 
sponse. Hitherto I had blamed only the servants, but now a 
terrible fear began to assail me. Was this desolation but 
another link in the chain of doom which seemed drawing 
tight around us? Was it indeed a house of death to which I 
had come, too late? I knew that minutes, even seconds, of 
delay might mean hours of danger to Lucy, if she had had 
again one of those frightful relapses ; and I went round the 
house to try if I could find by chance an entry anywhere. 

I could find no means of ingress. Every window and door 
was fastened and locked, and I returned baffled to the porch. 
As I did so, I heard the rapid pit-pat of a swiftly driven 
horse’s feet. They stopped at the gate, and a few seconds 
later I met Van Helsing running up the avenue. When he 
saw me, he gasped out : — 

“Then it was you, and just arrived. How is she? Are 
we too late? Did you not get my telegram?” 

I answered as quickly and coherently as I could that I had 
only got his telegram early in the morning and had not lost a 
minute in coming here, and that I could not make any one in 
the house hear me. He paused and raised his hat as he said 
solemnly : — 

“Then I fear we are too late. God’s will be done !” With 
his usual recuperative energy, he went on : “Come. If there 
be no way open to get in, we must make one. Time is all in 
all to us now.” 

We went round to the back of the house, where there was 
a kitchen window. The Professor took a small surgical saw 

146 


Dr. Seward's Diary 147 

from his case, and handing it to me, pointed to the iron bars 
which guarded the window. I attacked them at once and 
had very soon cut through three of them. Then with a long, 
thin knife we pushed back the fastening of the sashes and 
opened the window. I helped the Professor in, and followed 
him. There was no one in the kitchen or in the servants* 
rooms, which were close at hand. We tried all the rooms as 
we went along, and in the dining-room, dimly lit by rays 
of light through the shutters, found four servant-women ly- 
ing on the floor. There was no need to think them dead, for 
their stertorous breathing and the acrid smell of laudanum 
in the room left no doubt as to their condition. Van Helsing 
and I looked at each other, and as we moved away he said : 
“We can attend to them later.” Then we ascended to Lucy’s 
room. For an instant or two we paused at the door to listen, 
but there was no sound that we could hear. With white 
faces and trembling hands, we opened the door gently, and 
entered the room. 

How shall I describe what we saw? On the bed lay two 
women, Lucy and her mother. The latter lay farthest in, 
and she was covered with a white sheet, the edge of which 
had been blown back by the draught through the broken win- 
dow, showing the drawn, white face, with a look of terror 
fixed upon it. By her side lay Lucy, with face white and still 
more drawn. The flowers which had been round her neck 
we found upon her mother’s bosom, and her throat was bare, 
showing the two little wounds which we had noticed before, 
but looking horribly white and mangled. Without a word 
the Professor bent over the bed, his head almost touching 
poor Lucy’s breast ; then he gave a quick turn of his head, as 
of one who listens, and leaping to his feet, he cried out to 
me : — 

“It is not yet too late! Quick! quick! Bring the 
brandy !” 

I flew downstairs and returned with it, taking care to smell 
and taste it, lest it, too, were drugged like the decanter of 
sherry which I found on the table. The maids were still 
breathing, but more restlessly, and I fancied that the narcotic 
was wearing off. I did not stay to make sure, but returned 
to Van Helsing. He rubbed the brandy, as on another oc- 
casion, on her lips and gums and on her wrists and the palms 
of her hands. He said to me : — 

“I can do this, all that can be at the present. You go wake 


Dracula 


148 

those maids. Flick them in the face with a wet towel, and 
flick them hard. Make them get heat and fire and a warm 
bath. This poor soul is nearly as cold as that beside her. 
She will need be heated before we can do anything more.” 

I went at once, and found little difficulty in waking three 
of the women. The fourth was only a young girl, and the 
drug had evidently affected her more strongly, so I lifted her 
on the sofa and let her sleep. The others were dazed at first, 
but as remembrance came back to them they cried and sobbed 
in a hysterical manner. I was stern with them, however, 
and would not let them talk. I told them that one life was 
bad enough to lose, and that if they delayed they would sac- 
rifice Miss Lucy. So, sobbing and crying, they went about 
their way, half clad as they were, and prepared fire and 
water. Fortunately, the kitchen and boiler fires were still 
alive, and there was no lack of hot water. We got a bath, 
and carried Lucy out as she was and placed her in it. Whilst 
we were busy chafing her limbs there was a knock at the hall- 
door. One of the maids ran off, hurried on some more 
clothes, and opened it. Then she returned and whispered to 
us that there was a gentleman who had come with a message 
from Mr. Holmwood. I bade her simply tell him that he 
must wait, for we could see no one now. She went away 
with the message, and, engrossed with our work, I clean for- 
got all about him. 

I never saw in all my experience the Professor work in 
such deadly earnest. I knew — as he knew — that it was a 
stand-up fight with death, and in a pause told him so. He 
answered me in a way that I did not understand, but with the 
sternest look that his face could wear : — 

“If that were all, I would stop here where we are now, 
and let her fade away into peace, for I see no light in lif* 
over her horizon.” He went on with his work with, if pos- 
sible, renewed and more frenzied vigour. 

Presently we both began to be conscious that the heat was 
beginning to be of some effect. Lucy’s heart beat a trifle 
more audibly to the stethoscope, and her lungs had a per- 
ceptible movement. Van Helsing’s face almost beamed, and 
as we lifted her from the bath and rolled her in a hot sheet 
to dry her he said to me : — 

“The first gain is ours ! Check to the King !” 

We took Lucy into another room, which had by now been 
prepared, and laid her in bed and forced a few drops of 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 149 

brandy down her throat. I noticed that Van Helsing tied a 
soft silk handkerchief round her throat. She was still un- 
conscious, and was quite as bad as, if not worse than, we had 
ever seen her. 

Van Helsing called in one of the women, and told her to 
stay with her and not to take her eyes off her till we returned, 
and then beckoned me out of the room. 

“We must consult as to what is to be done,” he said as 
we descended the stairs. In the hall he opened the dining- 
room door, and we passed in, he closing the door carefully 
behind him. The shutters had been opened, but the blinds 
were already down, with that obedience to the etiquette of 
death which the British woman of the lower classes always 
rigidly observes. The room was, therefore, dimly dark. It 
was, however, light enough for our purposes. Van Helsing’s 
sternness was somewhat relieved by a look of perplexity. 
He was evidently torturing his mind about something, so I 
waited for an instant, and he spoke : — 

“What are we to do now ? Where are we to turn for help ? 
We must have another transfusion of blood, and that soon, 
or that poor girl’s life won’t be worth an hour’s purchase. 
You are exhausted already; I am exhausted too. I fear to 
trust those women, even if they would have courage to sub- 
mit. What are we to do for some one who will open his 
veins for her?” 

“What’s the matter with me, anyhow ?” 

The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its 
tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those 
of Quincey Morris. Van Helsing started angrily at the first 
sound, but his face softened and a glad look came into his 
eyes as I cried out : “Quincey Morris !” and rushed towards 
him with outstretched hands. 

“What brought you here ?” I cried as our hands met. 

“I guess Art is the cause.” 

He handed me a telegram : — 

“Have not heard from Seward for three days, and am ter- 
ribly anxious. Cannot leave. Father still in same condi- 
tion. Send me word how Lucy is. Do not delay. — Holm- 
wood.” 

“I think I came just in the nick of time. You know you 
have only to tell me what to do.” 

Van Helsing strode forward and took his hand, looking 
him straight in the eyes as he said : — 


Dracula 


150 

'‘A brave man’s blood is the best thing on this earth when 
e woman is in trouble. You’re a man and no mistake. Well, 
the devil may work against us for all he’s worth, but God 
sends us men when we want them.” 

Once again we went through that ghastly operation. I 
have not the heart to go through with the details. Lucy had 
got a terrible shock and it told on her more than before, for 
though plenty of blood went into her veins, her body did not 
respond to the treatment as well as on the other occasions. 
Her struggle back into life was something frightful to see 
and hear. However, the action of both heart and lungs im- 
proved, and Van Helsing made a subcutaneous injection of 
morphia, as before, and with good effect. Her faint became 
a profound slumber. The Professor watched whilst I went 
downstairs with Quincey Morris, and sent one of the maids 
to pay off one of the cabmen who were waiting. I left Quin- 
cey lying down after having a glass of wine, and told the 
cook to get ready a good breakfast. Then a thought struck 
me, and I went back to the room where Lucy now was. 
When I came softly in, I found Van Helsing with a sheet or 
two of note-paper in his hand. He had evidently read it, and 
was thinking it over as he sat with his hand to his brow. 
There was a look of grim satisfaction in his face, as of one 
who has had a doubt solved. He handed me the paper say- 
ing only : “It dropped from Lucy’s breast when we carried 
her to the bath.” 

When I had read it, I stood looking at the Professor, and 
after a pause asked him : “In God’s name, what does it all 
mean ? Was she, or is she, mad ; or what sort of horrible 
danger is it ? I was so bewildered that I did not know what 
to say more. Van Helsing put out his hand and took the 
paper, saying: — 

“Do not trouble about it now. Forget it for the present. 
You shall know and understand it all in good time ; but it 
will be later. And now what is it that you came to me to 
say?” This brought me back to fact, and I was all myself 
again. 

“I came to speak about the certificate of death. If we do 
not act properly and wisely, there may be an inquest, and that 
paper would have to be produced. I am in hopes that we 
need have no inquest, for if we had it would surely kill poor 
Lucy, if nothing else did. I know, and you know, and the 
other doctor who attended her knows, that Mrs. Westenra 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 151 

had disease of the heait, and we can certify that she died of 
it. Let us fill up the certificate at once, and I shall take it 
myself to the registrar and go on to the undertaker.” 

“Good, oh my friend John! Well thought of! Truly 
Miss Lucy, if she be sad in the foes that beset her, is at least 
happy in the friends that love her. One, two, three, all open 
their veins for her, besides one old man. Ah yes, I know, 
friend John ; I am not blind ! I love you all the more for it ! 
Now go.” 

In the hall I met Quincey Morris, with a telegram for Ar- 
thur telling him that Mrs. Westenra was dead; that Lucy 
also had been ill, but was now going on better; and that Van 
Helsing and I were with her. I told him where I was going, 
and he hurried me out, but as I was going said : — 

“When you come back, Jack, may I have two words with 
you all to ourselves?” I nodded in reply and went out. I 
found no difficulty about the registration, and arranged with 
the local undertaker to come up in the evening to measure 
for the coffin and to make arrangements. 

When I got back Quincey was waiting for me. I told him 
I would see him as soon as I knew about Lucy, and went up 
to her room. She was still sleeping, and the Professor seem- 
ingly had not moved from his seat at her side. From his 
putting his finger to his lips, I gathered that he expected her 
to wake before long and was afraid of forestalling nature. 
So I went down to Quincey and took him into the breakfast- 
room, where the blinds were not drawn down, and which was 
a little more cheerful, or rather less cheerless, than the other 
rooms. When we were alone, he said to me : — 

“Jack Seward, I don’t want to shove myself in anywhere 
where I’ve no right to be ; but this is no ordinary case. You 
know I loved that girl and wanted to marry her; but, al- 
though that’s all past and gone, I can’t help feeling anxious 
about her all the same. What is it that’s wrong with her? 
The Dutchman — and a fine old fellow he is ; I can see that — • 
said, that time you two came into the room, that you must 
have another transfusion of blood, and that both you and he 
were exhausted. Now I know well that you medical men 
speak in camera, and that a man must not expect to know 
what they consult about in private. But this is no common 
matter, and, whatever it is, I have done my part. Is not 
that so ?” 

'That’s so,” I said, and he went on : — 


Dracula 


152 

“I take it that both you and Van Helsing had done al- 
ready what I did to-day. Is not that so?” 

“That’s so.” 

“And I guess Art was in it too. When I saw him four 
days ago down at his own place he looked queer. I have not 
seen anything pulled down so quick since I was on the Pam- 
pas and had a mare that I was fond of go to grass all in a 
night. One of those big bats that they call vampires had got 
at her in the night, and, what with his gorge and the vein left 
open, there wasn’t enough blood in her to let her stand up, 
and I had to put a bullet through her as she lay. Jack, if 
you may tell me without betraying confidence, Arthur was 
the first ; is not that so ?” As he spoke the poor fellow looked 
terribly anxious. He was in a torture of suspense regarding 
the woman he loved, and his utter ignorance of the terrible 
mystery which seemed to surround her intensified his pain. 
His very heart was bleeding, and it took all the manhood 
of him — and there was a royal lot of it, too — to keep him 
from breaking down. I paused before answering, for I felt 
that I must not betray anything which the Professor wished 
kept secret ; but already he knew so much, and guessed so 
much, that there could be no reason for not answering, so I 
answered in the same phrase: “That’s so.” 

“And how long has this been going on?” 

^ “About ten days.” 

' “Ten days! Then I guess, Jack Seward, that that pool 
pretty creature that we all love has had put into her veins 
within that time the blood of four strong men. Man alive, 
her whole body wouldn’t hold it.” Then, coming close tc 
me, he spoke in a fierce half- whisper : “What took it out?” 

I shook my head. “That,” I said, “is the crux. Van 
Helsing is simply frantic about it, and I am at my wits’ end. 
I can’t even hazard a guess. There has been a series of little 
circumstances which have thrown out all our calculations as 
to Lucy being properly watched. But these shall not occur 
again. Here we stay until all be well — or ill.” Quincey 
held out his hand. “Count me in,” he said. “You and the 
Dutchman will tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” 

When she woke late in the afternoon, Lucy’s first move- 
ment was to feel in her breast, and, to my surprise, produced 
the paper which Van Helsing had given me to read. The 
careful Professor had replaced it where it had come from, 
test on waking she should be alarmed. Her eye then lit on 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 153 

Van Helsing and on me too, and gladdened. Then she 
looked around the room, and seeing where she was, shud- 
dered ; she gave a loud cry, and put her poor thin hands be- 
fore her pale face. We both understood what that meant — - 
that she had realised to the full her mother’s death; so we 
tried what we could to comfort her. Doubtless sympathy 
eased her somewhat, but she was very low in thought and 
spirit, and wept silently and weakly for a long time. We 
told her that either or both of us would now remain with her 
all the time, and that seemed to comfort her. Towards dusk 
she fell into a doze. Here a very odd thing occurred. 
Whilst still asleep she took the paper from her breast and 
tore it in two. Van Helsing stepped over and took the 
pieces from her. All the same, however, she went on with 
the action of tearing, as though the material were still in her 
hands; finally she lifted her hands and opened them as 
though scattering the fragments. Van Helsing seemed sur- 
prised, and his brows gathered as if in thought, but he said 
nothing. 

19 'September . — All last night she slept fitfully, being 
always afraid to sleep, and something weaker when she woke 
from it. The Professor and I took it in turns to watch, and 
we never left her for a moment unattended. Quincey Mor- 
ris said nothing about his intention, but I knew that all night 
long he patrolled round and round the house. 

When the day came, its searching light showed the rav- 
ages in poor Lucy’s strength. She was hardly able to turn 
her head, and the little nourishment which she could take 
seemed to do her no good. At times she slept, and both Van 
Helsing and I noticed the difference in her, between sleeping 
and waking. Whilst asleep she looked stronger, although 
more haggard, and her breathing was softer; her open 
mouth showed the pale gums drawn back from the teeth, 
which thus looked positively longer and sharper than usual ; 
when she woke the softness of her eyes evidently changed 
the expression, for she looked her own self, although a dying 
one. In the afternoon she asked for Arthur, and we tele- 
graphed for him. Quincey went off to meet him at the sta- 
tion. 

When he arrived it was nearly six o’clock, and the sun was 
setting full and warm, and the red light streamed in through 
the window and gave more colour to the pale cheeks. When 


Dracula 


154 

he saw her, Arthur was simply choking with emotion, and 
none of us could speak. In the hours that had passed, the fits 
of sleep, or the comatose condition that passed for it, had 
grown more frequent, so that the pauses when conversation 
was possible were shortened. Arthur’s presence, however, 
seemed to act as a stimulant ; she rallied a little, and spoke 
to him more brightly than she had done since we arrived. 
He too pulled himself together, and spoke as cheerily as he 
could, so that the best was made of everything. 

It was now nearly one o’clock, and he and Van Helsing are 
sitting with her. I am to relieve them in a quarter of an 
hour, and I am entering this on Lucy’s phonograph. Until 
six o’clock they are to try to rest. I fear that to-morrow 
will end our watching, for the shock has been too great ; the 
poor child cannot rally. God help us all. 


Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra. 

(Unopened by her.) 

“17 September . 

“My dearest Lucy, — 

“It seems an age since I heard from you, or indeed since I 
wrote. You will pardon me, I know, for all my faults when 
you have read all my budget of news. Well, I got my hus- 
band back all right ; when we arrived at Exeter there was a 
carriage waiting for us, and in it, though he had an attack of 
gout, Mr* Hawkins. He took us to his house, where there 
were rooms for us all nice and comfortable, and we dined 
together. After dinner Mr. Hawkins said : — 

“ ‘ My dears, I want to drink your health and prosperity ; 
and may every blessing attend you both. I know you both 
from children, and have, with love and pride, seen you grow 
up. Now I want you to make your home here with me. I 
have left to me neither chick nor child ; all are gone, and in 
my will I have left you everything.’ I cried, Lucy dear, as 
Jonathan and the old man clasped hands. Our evening was 
a very, very happy one. 

“So here we are, installed in this beautiful old house, and 
from both my bedroom and the drawing-room I can see the 
great elms of the cathedral close, with their great black stems 
standing our against the old yellow stone of the cathedral 
and I can hear the rooks overhead cawing and cawing and 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 155 

chattering and gossiping all day, after the manner of rooks 
— and humans. I am busy, I need not tell you, arranging 
things and housekeeping. Jonathan and Mr. Hawkins are 
busy all day ; for, now that Jonathan is a partner, Mr. Haw- 
kins wants to tell him all about the clients. 

“How is your dear mother getting on? I wish I could 
run up to town for a day or two to see you, dear, but I dare 
not go yet, with so much on my shoulders; and Jonathan 
wants looking after still. He is beginning to put some flesh 
on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the long 
illness ; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a 
sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him 
back to his usual placidity. However, thank God, these oc- 
casions grow less frequent as the days go on, and they will in 
time pass away altogether, I trust And now I have told you 
my news, let me ask yours. When are you to be married, 
and where, and who is to perform the ceremony, and what 
are you to wear, and is it to be a public or a private wedding ? 
Tell me all about it, dear; tell me all about everything, for 
there is nothing which interests you which will not be dear to 
me. Jonathan asks me to send his ‘respectful duty/ but I 
do not think that is good enough from the junior partner of 
the important firm Hawkins & Harker ; and so, as you love 
me, and he loves me, and I love you with all the moods and 
tenses of the verb, I send you simply his ‘love’ instead. 
Good-bye, my dearest Lucy, and all blessings on you. 

“Yours, 

“Mina Harker." 


Report from Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M* R. C. S. L. K. 

Q . C. P. I., etc., etc., to John Seward, M. D. 

“20 September . 

“My dear Sir, — 

“In accordance with your wishes, I enclose report of the 
conditions of everything left in my charge With re- 

gard to patient, Renfield, there is more to say. He has had 
anothei outbreak which might have had a dreadful ending, 
but which, as it fortunately happened, was unattended with 
any unhappy results. This afternoon a carrier’s cart with 
two men made a call at the empty house whose grounds abut 
on ours — the house to which, you will remember, the patient 


Dracula 


156 

twice ran away. The men stopped at our gate to ask the 
porter their way, as they were strangers. I was myself look- 
ing out of the study window, having a smoke after dinner, 
and saw one of them come up to the house. As he passed 
the window of Renfield’s room, the patient began to rate him 
from within, and called him all the foul names he could lay 
his tongue to. The man, who seemed a decent fellow 
enough, contented himself by telling him to “shut up for a 
foul-mouthed beggar,” whereon our man accused him of 
robbing him and wanting to murder him and said that he 
would hinder him if he were to swing for it. I opened the 
window and signed to the man not to notice, so he contented 
himself after looking the place over and making up his mind 
as to what kind of a place he had got to by saying: ‘Lor' 
bless yer, sir, I wouldn’t mind what was said to me in a 
bloomin’ madhouse. I pity ye and the guv’nor for havin’ to 
live in the house with a wild beast like that.’ Then he asked 
his way civilly enough, and I told him where the gate of the 
empty house was; he went away, followed by threats and 
curses and revilings from our man. I went down to see if I 
could make out any cause for his anger, since he is usually 
such a well-behaved man, and except his violent fits nothing 
of the kind had ever occurred. I found him, to my astonish- 
ment, quite composed and most genial in his manner. I 
tried to get him to talk of the incident, but he blandly asked 
me questions as to what I meant, and led me to believe that 
he was completely oblivious of the affair. It was, I am 
sorry to say, however, only another instance of his cunning, 
for within half an hour I heard of him again. This time he 
had broken out through the window of his room, and was 
running down the avenue. I called to the attendants to 
follow me, and ran after him, for I feared he was intent on 
some mischief. My fear was justified when I saw the same 
cart which had passed before coming down the road, having 
on it some great wooden boxes. The men were wiping their 
foreheads, and were flushed in the face, as if with violent 
exercise. Before I could get up to him the patient rushed at 
them, and pulling one of them off the cart, began to knock 
his head against the ground. If I had not seized him 
just at the moment I believe he would have killed the man 
there and then. The other fellow jumped down and struck 
him over the head with the butt-end of his heavy whip. It 
was a terrible blow: but he did not seem to rnind it, but 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 157 

seized him also, and struggled with the three of us, pulling 
us to and fro as if we were kittens. You know I am no light 
weight, and the others were both burly men. At first he was 
silent in his fighting ; but as we began to master him, and the 
attendants were putting a strait-waistcoat on him, he began 
to shout : Til frustrate them ! They shan’t rob me ! tl ey 
shan’t murder me by inches! I’ll fight for my Lord and 
Master !’ and all sorts of similar incoherent ravings. It was 
with very considerable difficulty that they got him back to 
the house and putJiim in the padded room. One of the at- 
tendants, Hardy, had a finger broken. However, I set it all 
right ; and he is going on well. 

“The two carriers were at first loud in their threats of ac* 
lions for damages, and promised to rain all the penalties of 
the law on us. Their threats were, however, mingled with 
some sort of indirect apology for the defeat of the two of 
them by a feeble madman. They said that if it had not been 
for the way their strength had been spent in carrying and 
raising the heavy boxes to the cart they would have made 
short work of him. They gave as another reason for their 
defeat the extraordinary state of drouth to which they had 
been reduced by the dusty nature of their occupation and the 
reprehensible distance from the scene of their labours of any 
place of public entertainment. I quite understood their drift, 
and after a stiff glass of grog, or rather more of the same, 
and with each a sovereign in hand, they made light of the 
attack, and swore that they would encounter a worse mad- 
man any day for the pleasure of meeting so ‘bloomin’ good a 
bloke’ as your correspondent. I took their names and ad- 
dresses, in case they might be needed. They are as follows : 
— Jack Smollet, of Dudding’s Rents, King George’s Road, 
Great Walworth, and Thomas Snelling, Peter Farley’s Row, 
Guide Court, Bethnal Green. They are both in the employ- 
ment of Harris & Sons, Moving and Shipment Company, 
Orange Master’s Yard, Soho. 

“I shall report to you any matter of interest occurring 
here, and shall wire you at once if there is anything of im- 
portance. 

“Believe me, dear Sir, 

“Yours faithfully, 

“Patrick Hennessey.” 


Dracula 


158 


Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy W estenr a. 

(Unopened by her.) 

"18 September . 

“My dearest Lucy, — 

“Such a sad blow has befallen us. Mr. Hawkins has died 
very suddenly. Some may not think it so sad for us, but 
we had both come to so love him that it really seems as 
though we had lost a father. I never knew either father or 
mother, so that the dear old man’s death is a real blow to me. 
Jonathan is greatly distressed. It is not only that he feels 
sorrow, deep sorrow, for the dear, good man who has be- 
friended him all his life, and now at the end has treated 
him like his own son and left him a fortune which to people 
of our modest bringing up is wealth beyond the dream of 
avarice, but Jonathan feels it on another account. He says 
the amount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes 
him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer 
him up, and my belief in him helps him to have a belief in 
himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he experi- 
enced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a 
sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his — a nature 
which enabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from 
clerk to master in a few years — should be so injured that the 
very essence of its strength is gone. Forgive me, dear, if I 
worry you with my troubles in the midst of your own happi- 
ness ; but, Lucy dear, I must tell some one, for the strain of 
keeping up a brave and cheerful appearance to Jonathan tries 
me, and I have no one here that I can confide in. I dread 
coming up to London, as we must do the day after to-mor- 
row ; for poor Mr. Hawkins left in his will that he was to be 
buried in the grave with his father. As there are no rela- 
tions at all, Jonathan will have to be chief mourner. I shall 
try to run over to see you, dearest, if only for a few minutes. 
Forgive me for troubling you. With all blessings, 

“Your loving 

“Mina Harker." 


Dr. Seward's Diary. 

20 September . — Only resolution and habit can let me 
make an entry to-night. I am too miserable, too low-spir- 
ited, too sick of the world and all in it, including b/e itself 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 159 

that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of 
the wings of the angel of death. And he has been flapping 
those grim wings to some purpose of late — Lucy’s mother 
and Arthur’s father, and now . . .. Let me get on with 

my work. 

I duly relieved Van Helsing in his watch over Lucy. We 
wanted Arthur to go to rest also, but he refused at first. It 
was only when I told him that we should want him to help us 
during the day, and that we must not all break down for 
want of rest, lest Lucy should suffer, that he agreed to go. 
Van Helsing was very kind to him. “Come, my child,” he 
said ; “come with me. You are sick and weak, and have had 
much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on 
your strength that we know of. You must not be alone; 
for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms. Come to the 
drawing-room, where there is a big fire, and there are two 
sofas. You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our 
sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though we do 
not speak, and even if we sleep.” Arthur went off with 
him, casting back a longing look on Lucy’s face, which lay 
on her pillow, almost whiter than the lawn. She lay quite 
still, and I looked round the room to see that all was as it 
should be. I could see that the Professor had carried out in 
this room, as in the other, his purpose of using the garlic; 
the whole of the window-sashes reeked with it, and round 
Lucy’s neck, over the silk handkerchief which Van Helsing 
made her keep on, was a rough chaplet of the same odorous 
flowers. Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and 
her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the 
pale gums. Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed 
longer and sharper than they had been in the morning. In 
particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked 
longer and sharper than the rest. I sat down by her, and 
presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there 
came a sort of dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I 
went over to it softly, and peeped out by the corner of the 
blind. There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the 
noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled round — doubt- 
less attracted by the light, although so dim— and every now 
and again struck the window with its wings. When I came 
back to my seat I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and 
had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat. I replaced 
them as well as I could, and sat watching her. 


Dracula 


r6o 

Presently she woke, and I gave her food, as Van Helsing 
had prescribed. She took but a little, and that languidly. 
There did not seem to be with her now the unconscious 
struggle for life and strength that had hitherto so marked 
her illness. It struck me as curious that the moment she 
became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. 
It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic 
state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from 
her; but that when she waked she clutched them close. 
There was no possibility of making any mistake about this, 
for in the long hours that followed, she had many spells of 
sleeping and waking and repeated both actions many times. 

At six o’clock Van Helsing came to relieve me. Arthur 
had then fallen into a doze, and he mercifully let him sleep 
on. When he saw Lucy’s face I could hear the hissing in- 
draw of his breath, and he said to me in a sharp whisper: 
“Draw up the blind; I want light!” Then he bent down, 
and, with his face almost touching Lucy’s, examined her 
carefully. He removed the flowers and lifted the silk hand' 
kerchief from her throat. As he did so he started back, and 
I could hear his ejaculation, “Mein Gott !” as it was smoth- 
ered in his throat. I bent over and looked too, and as I no- 
ticed some queer chill came over me. 

The wounds on the throat had absolutely disappeared. 

For fully five minutes Van Helsing stood looking at her, 
with his face at its sternest. Then he turned to me and said 
calmly : — 

“She is dying. It will not be long now. It will be much 
difference, mark me, whether she dies conscious or in her 
sleep. Wake that poor boy, and let him come and see the 
last ; he trusts us, and we have promised him.” 

I went to the dining-room and waked him. He was dazed 
for a moment, but when he saw the sunlight streaming in 
through the edges of the shutters he thought he was late, 
and expressed his fear. I assured him that Lucy was still 
asleep, but told him as gently as I could that both Van Hel- 
sing and I feared that the end was near. He covered his 
face with his hands, and slid down on his knees by the sofa, 
where he remained, perhaps a minute, with his head buried, 
praying, whilst his shoulders shook with grief. I took him 
by the hand and raised him up. “Come,” I said, “my dear 
old fellow, summon all your fortitude; it will be best and 
easiest for her" 


Dr. Seward’s Diary l6i 

When we came into Lucy’s room I could see that Van 
Helsing had, with his usual forethought, been putting mat- 
ters straight and making everything look as pleasing as 
possible. He had even brushed Lucy’s hair, so that it lay on 
the pillow in its usual sunny ripples. When we came into 
the room she opened her eyes, and seeing him, whispered 
softly : — 

“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have cornel” 
He was stooping to kiss her, when Van Helsing motioned 
him back. “No,” he whispered, “not yet ! Hold her hand ; 
it will comfort her more.” 

So Arthur took her hand and knelt beside her, and she 
looked her best, with all the soft lines matching the angelic 
beauty of her eyes. Then gradually her eyes closed, and she 
sank to sleep. For a little bit her breast heaved softly, and 
her breath came and went like a tired child’s. 

And then insensibly there came the strange change which 
I had noticed in the night. Her breathing grew stertorous, 
the mouth opened, and the pale gums, drawn back, made the 
teeth look longer and sharper than ever. In a sort of sleep- 
waking, vague, unconscious way she opened her eyes, which 
were now dull and hard at once, and said in a soft, voluptu- 
ous voice, such as I had never heard from her lips : — 

“Arthur! Oh, my love, I am so glad you have come!” 
Kiss me !” Arthur bent eagerly over to kiss her ; but at that 
instant Van Helsing, who, like me, had been startled by her 
voice, swooped upon him, and catching him by the neck with 
both hands, dragged him back with a fury of strength which 
I never thought he could have possessed, and actually hurled 
him almost across the room. 

“Not for your life !” he said ; “not for your living soul and 
hers !” And he stood between them like a lion at bay. 

Arthur was so taken aback that he did not for a moment 
know what to do or say ; and before any impulse of violence 
could seize him he realised the place and the occasion, and 
stood silent, waiting. 

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy, as did Van Helsing, and we 
saw a spasm as of rage flit like a shadow over her face ; the 
sharp teeth champed together. Then her eyes closed, and 
she breathed heavily. 

Very shortly after she opened her eyes in all their softness, 
and putting out her poor, pale, thin hand, took Van Helsing’s 
#reat brown one ; drawing it to her, she kissed it. “My true 
fn) 


i6z 


Dracula 


friend,” she said, in a faint voice, W. with untellable pathos* 
“My true friend, and his! Oh, guard him, and give me 
peace !” 

“I swear it!” said he solemnly, kneeling beside her and 
holding up his hand, as one who registers an oath. Then he 
turned to Arthur, and said to him: “Come, my child, take 
her hand in yours, and kiss her on the forehead, and only 
©nee.” 

Their eyes met instead of their lips ; and so they parted. 

Lucy’s eyes closed; and Van Helsing, who had been 
watching closely, took Arthur’s arm, and drew him away. 

And then Lucy’s breathing became stertorous again, and 
all at once it ceased. 

“It is all over,” said Van Helsing. “She is dead !” 

I took Arthur by the arm, and led him away to the draw* 
ing-room, where he sat down, and covered his face with hi& 
hands, sobbing in a way that nearly broke me down to see. 

I went back to the room, and found Van Helsing looking 
at poor Lucy, and his face was sterner than ever. Some 
change had come over her body. Death had given back part 
of her beauty, for her brow and cheeks had recovered some 
of their flowing lines; even the lips had lost their deadly 
pallor. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the 
working of the heart, had gone to make the harshness of 
death as little rude as might be. 

“ We thought her dying whilst she slept, 

And sleeping when she died.” 

I stood beside Van Helsing, and said : — 

“Ah well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is tha 
end!” 

He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity : — 

“Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!” 

When I asked him what he meant, he only shook his head 
*nd answered : — 

*‘We can do nothing as yet. Wait and see.” 


CHAPTER XIII 

dr. seward's diary — continued . 

The funeral was arranged for the next succeeding day, so 
that Lucy and her mother might be buried together. I at- 
tended to all the ghastly formalities, and the urbane under- 
taker proved that his staff were afflicted — or ble^ed — with 
something of his own obsequious suavity. Even the woman 
who performed the last offices for the dead remarked to me, 
in a confidential, brother-professional way, when she had 
come out from the death-chamber : — 

“She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It’s quite a privi- 
lege to attend on her. It’s not too much to say that she will 
do credit to our establishment !” 

I noticed that Van Helsing never kept far away. This 
was possible from the disordered state of things in the house- 
hold. There were no relatives at hand ; and as Arthur had 
to be back the next day to attend at his father’s funeral, we 
were unable to notify any one who should have been bidden. 
Under the circumstances, Van Helsing and I took it upon 
ourselves to examine papers, etc. He insisted upon looking 
over Lucy’s papers himself. I asked him why, for I feared 
that he, being a foreigner, might not be quite aware of Eng- 
lish legal requirements, and so might in ignorance make 
some unnecessary trouble. He answered me : — 

“I know ; I know. You forget that I am a lawyer as well 
as a doctor. But this is not altogether for the law. You 
knew that, when you avoided the coroner. I have more than 
him to avoid. There may be papers more — such as this.” 

As he spoke he took from his pocket-book the memoran- 
dum which had been in Lucy’s breast, and which she had 
tom in her sleep. 

“When you find anything of the solicitor who is for the 
late Mrs. Westenra, seal all her papers, and write him to- 
night. For me, I watch here in the room and in Miss Lucy’s 
old room all night, and I myself search for what may be. It 
- is not well that her very thoughts go into the hands of 
strangers.” 


Dracula 


164 

I went on with my part of the work, and in another half* 
hour had found the name and address of Mrs. Westenra’s 
solicitor and had written to him. All the poor lady’s papers 
were in order; explicit directions regarding the place of 
burial were given. I had hardly sealed the letter, when, to 
my surprise, Van Helsing walked into the room, saying: — 

“Can I help you, friend John? I am free, and if I may, 
my service is to you.” 

“Have you got what you looked for ?” I asked, to which he 
replied : — 

“I did not look for any specific thing. I only hoped to 
find, and find I have, all that there was — only some letters 
and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun. But I have 
them here, and we shall for the present say nothing of them. 
1 shall see that poor lad to-morrow evening, and, with his 
sanction, I shall use some.” 

When we had finished the work in hand, he said to me : — ■ 

“And now, friend John, I think we may to bed. We want 
sleep, both you and I, and rest to recuperate. To-morrow 
we shall have much to do, but for the to-night there is no 
need of us. Alas!” 

Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The 
undertaker had certainly done his work well, for the room 
was turned into a small chapelle ardente. There was a wil- 
derness of beautiful white flowers, and death was made as 
little repulsive as might be. The end of the winding-sheet 
was laid over the face; when the Professor bent over and 
turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before 
us, the tall wax candles showing a sufficient light to note it 
well. All Lucy’s loveliness had come back to her in 
death, and the hours that had passed, instead of leaving 
traces of “decay’s effacing fingers,” had but restored the 
beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes that 
I was looking at a corpse. 

The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved 
her as I had, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. Pie 
said to me : “Remain till I return,” and left the room. He 
came back with a handful of wild garlic from the box wait- 
ing in the hall, but which had not been opened, and placed 
the flowers amongst the others on and around the bed. Thep 
he took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, 
and placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its 
place, and we came away. 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 165 

I was undressing in my own room, when, with a pre- 
monitory tap at the door, lie entered, and at once began to 
speak : — 

“To-morrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of 
post-mortem knives.” 

“Must we make an autopsy?” I asked. 

“Yes and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. 
Let me tell you now, but not a word to another. I want to 
cut off her head and take out her heart. Ah! you a sur- 
geon, and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with no 
tremble of hand or heart, do operations of life and death that 
make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my dear 
friend John, that you loved her; and I have not forgotten it, 
for it is I that shall operate, and you must only help. I would 
like to do it to-night, but for Arthur I must not ; he will be 
free after his father’s funeral to-morrow, and he will want to 
see hex — to see it. Then, when she is coffined ready for the 
next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We shall un- 
screw the coffin-lid, and shall do our operation ; and then re- 
place all, so that none know, save we alone.” 

“But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate 
her poor body without need? And if there is no necessity 
for a post-mortem and nothing to gain by it — no good to 
her, to us, to science, to human knowledge — why do it? 
Without such it is monstrous.” 

For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with 
infinite tenderness : — 

“Friend John, I pity your poor bleeding heart ; and I love 
you the more because it does so bleed. If I could, I would 
take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are 
things that you know not, but that you shall know, and bless 
me for knowing, though they are not pleasant things. John, 
my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet 
did you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may 
err — I am but man ; but I believe in all I do. Was it not for 
these causes that you send for me when the great trouble 
came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified, when I 
would not let Arthur kiss his love — though she was dying — 
and snatched him away by all my strength ? Yes! And yet 
you saw how she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying 
eyes, her voice, too, so weak, and she kiss my rough old hand 
and bless me? Yes ! And did you not hear me swear prom- 
ise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes ! 


i66 


Dracula 


“Well, I have good reason now for all I want to do> Yo* 
have for many years trust me; you have believe me weeks 
past, when there be things so strange that you might have 
well doubt. Believe me yet a little, friend John. If you trust 
me not, then I must tell what I think; and that is not per- 
haps well. And if I work — as work I shall, no matter trust 
or no trust — without my friend trust in me, I work with 
heavy heart and feel, oh ! so lonely when I want all help and 
courage that may be!” He paused a moment and went on 
solemnly: “Friend John, there are strange and terrible days 
before us. Let us not be two, but one, that so we work to a 
good end. Will you not have faith in me ?” 

I took his hand, and promised him. I held my door open 
as he went away, and watched him go into his room and 
close the door. As I stood without moving, I saw one of the 
maids pass silently along the passage — she had her back to- 
wards me, so did not see me — and go into the room 
where Lucy lay. The sight touched me. Devotion is so 
rare, and we are so grateful to those who show it unasked 
to those we love. Here was a poor girl putting aside the 
terrors which she naturally had of death to go watch alone 
by the bier of the mistress whom she loved, so that the poor 
clay might not be lonely till laid to eternal rest 

I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad day- 
light when Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. 
He came over to my bedside and said : — 

“You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not 
do it.” 

“Why not?” I asked. For his solemnity of the night be- 
fore had greatly impressed me. 

“Because,” he said sternly, “it is too late — or too early. 
See !” Here he held up the little golden crucifix. “This was 
stolen in the night.” 

“How, stolen,” I asked in wonder, “since you have it 
now ?” 

“Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who 
stole it, from the woman who robbed the dead and the living. 
Her punishment will surely come, but not through me ; she 
knew not altogether what she did, and thus unknowing, she 
only stole. Now we must wait.” 

He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mys- 
tery to think of, a new puzzle to grapple with. 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 167 

The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor 
came: Mr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & 
Lidderdale. He was very genial and very appreciative of 
what we had done, and took off our hands all cares as to de- 
tails. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for 
some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had 
put her affairs in absolute order ; he informed us that, with 
the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy’s fath- 
er’s which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a 
distant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and per- 
sonal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he 
had told us so much he went on : — 

“Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary 
disposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might 
leave her daughter either penniless or not so free as she 
should be to act regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, 
we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into col- 
lision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to 
carry out her wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative 
but to accept. We were right in principle, and ninety-nine 
times out of a hundred we should have proved, by the logic 
of events, the accuracy of our judgment. Frankly, however, 
I must admit that in this case any other form of disposition 
would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her 
wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter 
would have come into possession of the property, and, even 
had she only survived her mother by five minutes, her prop- 
erty would, in case there were no will — and a will was a 
practical impossibility in such a case — have been treated at 
her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godai- 
ming, though so dear a friend, would have had no claim in 
the world; and the inheritors, being remote, would not be 
likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental reasons 
regarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, 
I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced.” 

He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little 
part — in which he was officially interested — of so great a 
tragedy, was an object-lesson in the limitations of sympa- 
thetic understanding. 

He did not remain long, but said he would look in later 
in the day and see Lord Godaiming. His coming, however, 
had been a certain comfort to us, since it assured us that we 
should not have to dread hostile criticism as to any of our 


1 68 


Dracula 


acts. Arthur was expected at five o’clock, so a little before 
that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in very 
truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The 
undertaker, true to his craft, had made the best display he 
could of his goods, and there was a mortuary air about the 
place that lowered our spirits at once. Van Helsing ordered 
the former arrangement to be adhered to, explaining that, 
as Lord Godaiming was coming very soon, it would be less 
harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his 
fiancee quite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his 
own stupidity, and exerted himself to restore things to the 
condition in which we left them the night before, so that 
when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings as we could 
avoid were saved. 

Poor fellow ! He looked desperately sad and broken ; even 
his stalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat un- 
der the strain of his much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, 
been very genuinely and devotedly attached to his father; 
and to lose him, and at such a time, was a bitter blow to him. 
With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he was 
sweetly courteous ; but I could not help seeing that there was 
some constraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, 
and motioned me to bring him upstairs. I did so, and left 
him at the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be 
quite alone with her ; but he took my arm and led me in, say- 
ing huskily : — 

“You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, 
and there was no friend had a closer place in her heart than 
you. I don’t know how to thank you for all you have done 
for her. I can’t think yet ” 

Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round 
my shoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying : — 

“Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do? The whole of life 
seems gone from me all at once, and there is nothing in the 
wide world for me to live for.” 

I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men 
do not need much expression. A grip of the hand, the tight- 
ening of an arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison, are ex- 
pressions of sympathy dear to a man’s heart. I stood still 
and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said softly to 
him : — 

“Come and look at her.” 

Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the law# 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 169 

from her face. God! how beautiful she was. Every hour 
seemed to be enhancing her loveliness. It frightened and 
amazed me somewhat ; and as for Arthur, he fell a-trem- 
bling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. 
At last, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whis- 
per : — 

“Jack, is she really dead?” 

I assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest 
— for I felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life 
for a moment longer than I could help — that it often hap- 
pened that after death faces became softened and even re- 
solved into their youthful beauty; that this was especially 
so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged 
suffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, 
after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at 
her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that 
must be good-bye, as the coffin had to be prepared; so he 
went back and took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and 
bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away, fondly 
looking back over his shoulder at her as he came. 

I left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that 
he had said good-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to 
tell the undertaker’s men to proceed with the preparations 
and to screw up the coffin. When he came out of the room 
again I told him of Arthur’s question, and he replied : — 

“I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment 
myself !” 

We all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was 
trying to make the best of things. Van Helsing had been 
silent all dinner-time; but when we had lit our cigars he 
said : — 

“Lord ;” but Arthur interrupted him : — 

“No, no, not that, for God’s sake! not yet at any rate. 
Forgive me, sir: I did not mean to speak offensively; it is 
only because my loss is so recent.” 

The Professor answered very sweetly:—- 

“I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must 
not call you ‘Mr./ and I have grown to love you — yes, my 
dear boy, to love you — as Arthur.” 

Arthur held out his hand, and took the old man’s warmly. 

“Call me what you will,” he said. “I hope I may always 
have the title of a friend. And let me say that I am at a loss 
for words to thank you for your goodness to my poor dear.” 


Dracula 


170 

He paused a moment, and went on : “I know that she under* 
stood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was 
rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so — you 
remember” — the Professor nodded — “you must forgive me.” 

He answered with a grave kindness : — 

“I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to 
trust such violence needs to understand; and I take it that 
you do not — that you cannot — trust me now, for you do not 
yet understand. And there may be more times when I shall 
want you to trust when you cannot — and may not — and must 
not yet understand But the time will come when your trust 
shall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall un- 
derstand as though the sunlight himself shone through. 
Then you shall bless me from first to last for your own sake, 
and for the sake of others, and for her dear sake to whom 
I swore to protect.” 

“And, indeed, indeed, sir,” said Arthur warmly, “I shall 
in all ways trust you. I know and believe you have a very 
noble heart, and you are Jack’s friend, and you were hers. 
You shall do what you like.” 

The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as 
though about to speak, and finally said : — 

“May I ask you something now?” 

“Certainly.” 

“You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?” 

“No, poor dear ; I never thought of it.” 

“And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as 
you will. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss 
Lucy’s papers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. 

I have a motive of which, be sure, she would have approved. 

I have them all here. I took them before we knew that all 
was yours, so that no strange hand might touch them — no 
strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep 
them, if I may ; even you may not see them yet, but I shall 
keep them safe. ,No word shall be lost ; and in the good time 
I shall give them back' to you. It’s a hard thing I ask, but 
you will do it, will you not, for Lucy’s sake ?” 

Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old self: — 

“Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that 
in saying this I am doing what my dear one would have ap- 
proved. I shall not trouble you with questions till the time 
comes.” 

The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly; — • 


Dr. Seward’s Diary lyi 

\ 

“And you are right. There will be pain for us all ; but it 
will not be all pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and 
you too — you most of all, my dear boy — will have to pass 
through the bitter water before we reach the sweet. But we 
must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our duty, and 
all will be well !” 

I slept on a sofa in Arthur’s room that night. Van Hel- 
sing did not go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if pa- 
trolling the house, and was never out of sight of the room 
where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with the wild garlic 
flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose, a 
heavy, overpowering smell into the night. 

Mina Harkens Journal . 

22 September . — In the train to Exeter. Jonathan sleep- 
ing. 

It seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and 
yet how much between then, in Whitby and all the world 
before me, Jonathan away and no news of him; and now, 
married to Jonathan, Jonathan a solicitor, a partner, rich, 
master of his business, Mr. Hawkins dead and buried, and 
Jonathan with another attack that may harm him. Some 
day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes. I am rusty 
in my shorthand — see what unexpected prosperity does for 
us — so it may be as well to freshen it up again with an exer- 
cise anyhow 

The service was very simple and very solemn. There were 
only ourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends 
of his from Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman rep- 
resenting Sir John Paxton, the President of the Incorporated 
Law Society. Jonathan and I stood hand in hand, and we 
felt that our best and dearest friend was gone from us. . . 

We came back to town quietly, taking a ’bus to Hyde Park 
Corner. Jonathan thought it would interest me to go into 
the Row for a while, so we sat down ; but there were very 
few people there, and it was sad-looking and desolate to see 
so many empty chairs. It made us think of the empty chair 
at home; so we got up and walked down Piccadilly. Jona- 
than was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old 
days before I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you 
can’t go on for some years caching etiquette and decorum 
to other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself 


Dracula 


172 

a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we 
didn’t know anybody who saw us — and we didn’t care if 
they did — so on we walked. I was looking at a very beautiful 
girl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside 
Giuliano’s, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that 
he hurt me, and he said under his breath : “My God !” I am 
always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous 
fit may upset him again ; so I turned to him quickly, and 
asked him what it was that disturbed him. 

He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, 
half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin 
man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed 
beard, who was also observing the pretty girl. He was look- 
ing at her so hard that he did not see either of us, and so I 
had a good view of him. His face was not a good face ; it 
was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, 
that looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were 
pointed like an animal’s. Jonathan kept staring at him, till 
I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill, 
he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he 
was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I 
knew as much about it as he did : “Do you see who it is ?” 

“No, dear,” I said; “I don’t know him; who is it?” His 
answer seemed to shock and thrill me, for it was said as if he 
did not know that it was to me, Mina, to whom he was speak- 
ing:— 

“It is the man himself !” 

The poor dear was evidently terrified at something — very 
greatly terrified ; I do believe that if he had not had me to 
lean on and to support him he would have sunk down. He 
kept staring; a man came out of the shop with a small par- 
cel, and gave it to the lady, who then drove off. The dark 
man kept his eyes fixed on her, and when the carriage moved 
up Piccadilly he followed in the same direction, and hailed a 
hansom. Jonathan kept looking after him, and said, as if to 
himself : — 

“I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My 
God, if this be so ! Oh, my God ! my God ! If I only knew ! 
if I only knew !” He was distressing himself so much that I 
feared to keep his mind on the subject by asking him any 
questions, so I remained silent. I drew him away quietly, 
and he, holding my arm, came easily. We walked a little 
further, and then went in and sat for a while in the Green 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 1 73 

Park. It was a hot day for autumn, and there was a com- 
fortable seat in a shady place. After a few minutes’ staring 
at nothing, Jonathan’s eyes closed, and he went quietly into a 
sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it was the 
best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty 
minutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully : — 

“Why, Mina, have I been asleep ! Oh, do forgive me for 
being so rude. Come, and we’ll have a cup of tea some- 
where.” He had evidently forgotten all about the dark 
stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that this epi- 
sode had reminded him of. I don’t like this lapsing into for- 
getfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the 
brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do more harm 
than good; but I must somehow learn the facts of his jour- 
ney abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open 
that parcel and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you 
will, I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for you* 
own dear sake. 

Later . — A sad home-coming in every way — the house 
empty of the dear soul who was so good to us; Jonathan 
still pale and dizzy under a slight relapse of his malady ; and 
now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he may be: — 

“You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five 
days ago, and that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They 
were both buried to-day.” 

Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words ! Poor Mrs. 
Westenra ! poor Lucy ! Gone, gone, never to return to us ! 
And poor, poor Arthur, to have lost such sweetness out of 
his life ! God help us all to bear our troubles. 

Dr. Seward’s Diary. 

22 September . — It is all over. Arthur has gone back to 
Ring, and has taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine 
fellow is Quincey! I believe in my heart of hearts that he 
suffered as much about Lucy’s death as any of us; but he 
bore himself through it like a moral Viking. If America 
can go on breeding men like that, she will be a power in the 
world indeed. Van Helsing is lying down, having a rest 
preparatory to his journey. He goes over to Amsterdam 
to-night, but says he returns to-morrow night ; that he only 
wants to make some arrangements which can only be mad© 


Dracula 


174 

personally. He is to stop with me then, if he can ; he says 
he has work to do in London which may take him some time. 
Poor old fellow ! I fear that the strain of the past week has 
broken down even his iron strength. All the time of the 
burial he was, I could see, putting some terrible restraint on 
himself. When it was all over, we were standing beside 
Arthur, who, poor fellow, was speaking of his part in the 
operation where his blood had been transfused to his Lucy’s 
veins ; I could see Van Helsing’s face grow white and purple 
by turns. Arthur was saying that he felt since then as if they 
two had been really married, and that she was his wife in 
the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other op- 
erations, and none of us ever shall. Arthur and Quincey 
went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I 
came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage 
he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to 
me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only 
his sense of humour asserting itself under very terrible con- 
ditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down 
the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge ; and then 
he cried till he laughed again; and laughed and cried to- 
gether, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with him, 
as one is to a woman under the circumstances ; but it had no 
effect. Men and women are so different in manifestations 
of nervous strength or weakness ! Then when his face grew 
grave and stern again I asked him why his mirth, and why 
at such a time. His reply was in a way characteristic of 
him, for it was logical and forceful and mysterious. He 
said : — 

“Ah, you don’t comprehend, friend John. Do not think 
that I am not sad, though I laugh. See, I have cried even 
when the laugh did choke me. But no more think that I am 
all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come just the same. 
Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your 
door and say, ‘May I come in?’ is not the true laughter. No ! 
he is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no 
person; he choose no time of suitability. He say, ‘I am 
here/ Behold, in example I grieve my heart out for that so 
sweet young girl ; I give my blood for her, though I am old 
and worn; I give my time, my skill, my sleep; I let 
my other sufferers want that so she may have all. And yet 
I can laugh at her very grave — laugh when the clay from 
the spade of the sexton drop upon her coffin and say, ‘Thud ! 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 175 

thud V to my heart, till it send back the blood from my cheek. 
My heart bleed for that poor boy — that dear boy, so of the 
age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and 
with his hair and eyes the same. There, you know now why 
I love him so. And yet when he say things that touch my 
husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn 
to him as to no other man — not even to you, friend John, 
for we are more level in experiences than father and son — - 
yet even at such moment King Laugh he come to me and 
shout and bellow in my ear, ‘Here I am ! here I am Y till the 
blood come dance back and bring some of the sunshine that 
he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a 
strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and 
woes, and troubles ; and yet when King Laugh come he make 
them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and 
dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they 
fall — all dance together to the music that he make with that 
smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that 
he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are 
like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. 
Then tears come ; and, like the rain on the ropes, they brace 
us up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and we 
break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and he 
ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with our 
labour, what it may be.” 

I did not like to wound him by pretending not to see his 
idea ; but, as I did not yet understand the cause of his laugh- 
ter, I asked him. As he answered me his face grew stern, 
and he said in quite a different tone : — 

“Oh, it was the grim irony of it all — this so lovely lady 
garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by 
one we wondered if she were truly dead ; she laid in that so 
fine marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so 
many of her kin, laid there with the mother who loved her, 
and whom she loved; and that sacred bell going ‘Toll! toll! 
toll !’ so sad and slow ; and those holy men, with the white 
garments of the angel, pretending to read books, and yet all 
the time their eyes never on the page ; and all of us with the 
bowed head. And all for what? She is dead; so! Is it 
not?” 

“Well, for the life of me, Professor,” I said, “I can’t see 
anything to laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation 
makes it a harder puzzle than before. But even if the burial 


Dracula 


176 

service was comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? 
Why, his heart was simply breaking.’" 

“Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to 
her veins had made her truly his bride?” 

“Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him.” 

“Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so 
that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so 
sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead 
to me, but alive by Church’s law, though no wits, all gone — 
even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am 
bigamist.” 

“I don’t see where the joke comes in there either!” I said; 
and I did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying 
such things. He laid his hand on my arm, and said: — 

“Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feel- 
ing to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old 
friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my 
very heart then when I want to laugh; if you could have 
done so when the laugh arrived ; if you could do so now, 
when King Laugh have pack up his crown and all that is to 
him — for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long 
time — maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all.” 

I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked 
why. 

“Because I know !” 

And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day 
loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy 
lies in the tomb of her kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely 
churchyard, away from teeming London; where the air is 
fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, and where wild 
flowers grow of their own accord. 

So I can finish this diary ; and God only knows if I shall ever 
begin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will 
be to deal with different people and different themes; for 
here at the end, where the romance of my life is told, ere I 
go back to take up the thread of my life-work, I say sadly 
and without hope, 


"FINIS."- 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 177 

" The Westminster Gazette,” 25 September. 

A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY. 

The neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present ex- 
ercised with a series of events which seem to run on lines 
parallel to those of what was known to the writers of head- 
lines as “The Kensington Horror,” or “The Stabbing 
Woman,” or “The Woman in Black.” During the past two 
or three days several cases have occurred of young children 
straying from home or neglecting to return from their play- 
ing on the Heath. In all these cases the children were too 
young to give any properly intelligible account of them- 
selves, but the consensus of their excuses is that they had 
been with a “bloofer lady.” It has always been late in the 
evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions 
the children have not been found until early in the follow- 
ing morning. It is generally supposed in the neighbourhood 
that, as the first child missed gave as his reason for being 
away that a “bloofer lady” had asked him to come for a 
walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as oc- 
casion served. This is the more natural as the favourite 
game of the little ones at present is luring each other away 
by wiles. A correspondent writes us that to see some of the 
tiny tots pretending to be the “bloofer lady” is supremely 
funny. Some of our caricaturists might, he says, take a les- 
son in the irony of grotesque by comparing the reality and 
the picture. It is only in accordance with general principles 
of human nature that the “bloofer lady” should be the popu- 
lar role at these al fresco performances. Our correspondent 
naively says that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly 
attractive as some of these grubby-faced little children pre- 
tend — and even imagine themselves — to be. 

There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, 
for some of the children, indeed all who have been missed 
at night, have been slightly torn or wounded in the throat. 
The wounds seem such as might be made by a rat or a small 
dog, and although of not much importance individually, 
would tend to show that whatever animal inflicts them has a 
system or method of its own. The police of the division 
have been instructed to keep a sharp look-out for straying 
children, especially when very young, in and around Hamp- 
stead Heath, and for any stray dog which may be about. 


178 


Dracula 


44 The Westminster Gazette ” 25 September. 

Extra Special. 

THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR. 

ANOTHER CHILD INJURED. 

The <( Bloofer Lady." 

We have just received intelligence that another child, 
missed last night, was only discovered late in the morning 
under a furze bush at the Shooter’s Hill side of Hampstead 
Heath, which is, perhaps, less frequented than the other 
parts. It has the same tiny wound in the throat as has been 
noticed in other cases. It was terribly weak, and looked 
quite emaciated. It too, when partially restored, had the 
common story to tell of being lured away by the “bloofer 
lady.” 


Mina Harker’s Journal 183 

ished his speech with a courtly bow. I asked him what it 
was that he wanted to see me about, so he at once began : — 

“I have read your letters to Miss Lucy. Forgive me, but 
I had to begin to inquire somewhere, and there was none 
to ask. I know that you were with her at Whitby. She 
sometimes kept a diary — you need not look, surprised 
Madam Mina ; it was begun after you had left, and was 
made in imitation of you — and in that diary she traces by in- 
ference certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts 
down that you saved her. In great perplexity then I come to 
you, and ask you out of your so much kindness to tell me all 
of it that you remember.” 

“I can tell you, I chink, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it.” 

“Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? 
It is not always so with young ladies.” 

“No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can 
show it to you if you like.” 

“Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful; you will do me 
much favour.” I could not resist the temptation of mystify- 
ing him a bit — I suppose it is some of the taste of the original 
apple that remains still in our mouths — so I handed him the 
shorthand diary. He took it with a grateful bow, and 
said : — 

“May I read it?” 

“If you wish,” I answered as demurely as I could. He 
opened it, and for an instant his face fell. Then he stood up 
and bowed. 

“Oh, you so clever woman !” he said. “I long knew that 
Mr. Jonathan was a man of much thankfulness ; but see, his 
wife have all the good things. And will you not so much 
honour me and so help me as to read it for me ? Alas ! I 
know not the shorthand.” By this time my little joke was 
over, and I was almost ashamed ; so I took the type-written 
copy from my workbasket and handed it to him. 

“Forgive me,” I said : “I could not help it ; but I had been 
thinking that it was of dear Lucy that you wished to ask, and 
so that you might not have to wait — not on my account, but 
because I know your time must be precious — I have written 
it out on the typewriter for you.” 

He took it and his eyes glistened. “You are so good,” he 
said. “And may I read it now ? I may want to ask you some 
things when I have read.” 

v By all means,” I said, “read it over whilst I order lunch ; 


Dracula 


184 

and then you can ask me questions whilst we eat.” He 
bowed and settled himself in a chair with his back to the 
light, and became absorbed in the papers, whilst I went to see 
after lunch, chiefly in order that he might not be disturbed. 
When I came back I found him walking hurriedly up and 
down the room, his face all ablaze with excitement. He 
rushed up to me and took me by both hands. 

“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, “how can I say what I owe 
to you? This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. 
I am daze, I am dazzle, with so much light ; and yet clouds 
roll in behind the light every time. But that you do not, 
cannot, comprehend. Oh, but I am grateful to you, you so 
clever woman. Madam” — he said this very solemnly — “if 
ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or 
yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and 
delight if I may serve you as a friend ; as a friend, but all I 
have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and 
those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are 
lights ; you are one of the lights. You will have happy life 
and good life, and your husband will be blessed in you.” 

“But, doctor, you praise me too much, and — and you do 
not know me.” 

“Not know you — I, who am old, and who have studied all 
my life men and women ; I, who have made my specialty the 
brain and all that belongs to him and all that follow from 
him ! And I have read your diary that you have so goodly 
written for me, and which breathes out truth in every line. 
I, who have read your so sweet letter to poor Lucy of your 
marriage and your trust, not know you ! Oh, Madam Mina, 
good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and 
by minute, such things that angels can read; and we men 
who wish to know have in us something of angels’ eyes. 
Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for you 
trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And 
your husband — tell me of him. Is he quite well ? Is all that 
fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?” I saw here an 
opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said : — 

“He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset 
by Mr. Hawkins’s death.” He interrupted: — 

“Oh yes, I know, I know. I have read your last two let- 
ters.” I went on : — 

“I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on 
Thursday last he had a sort of shock.” 


Mina Harker’s Journal 185 

“A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not 
good. What kind of shock was it ?” 

“He thought he saw some one who recalled something 
terrible, something which led to his brain fever.” And here 
the whole thing seemed to overwhelm me in a rush. The 
pity for Jonathan, the horror which he experienced, the 
whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that has been 
brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult. I sup- 
pose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and 
held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my hus- 
band well again. He took my hands and raised me up, and 
made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me ; he held my hand in 
his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness : — 

“My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work 
that I have not had much time for friendships ; but since I 
have been summoned to here by my friend John Seward I 
have known so many good people and seen such nobility that 
I feel more than ever — and it has grown with my advancing 
years — the loneliness of my life. Believe me, then, that I 
come here full of respect for you, and you have given me 
hope — hope, not in what I am seeking of, but that there are 
good women still left to make life happy — good women, 
whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for the 
children that are to be. I am glad, glad, that I may here be 
of some use to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer 
within the range of my study and experience. I promise you 
that I will gladly do all for him that I can — all to make his 
life strong and manly, and your life a happy one. NoW ( you 
must eat. You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious. 
Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale; and 
what he like not where he love, is not to his good. There- 
fore for his sake you must eat and smile. You have told me 
all about Lucy, and so now we shall not speak of it, lest it 
distress. I shall stay in Exeter to-night, for I want to think 
much over what you have told me, and when I have thought 
I will ask you questions, if I may. And then, too, you will 
tell me of husband Jonathan’s trouble so far as you can, but 
not yet. You must eat now; afterwards you shall tell me 
all.” 

After lunch, when we went back to the drawing-room, he 
said to me : — 

“And now tell me all about him.” When it came to speak- 
ing to this great, learned man, I began to fear that he would 


1 86 


Dracula 


think me a weak fool, and Jonathan a madman — that jour- 
nal is all so strange — and I hesitated to go on. But he was 
so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I trusted 
him, so I said : — 

“Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that 
you must not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been 
since yesterday in a sort of fever of doubt ; you must be kind 
to me, and not think me foolish that I have even half be- 
lieved some very strange things.” He reassured me by his 
manner as well as his words when he said : — 

“Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter 
regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I 
have learned not to think little of any one’s belief, no matter 
how strange it be. I have tried to keep an open mind ; and 
it is not the ordinary things of life that could close it, but 
the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that 
make one doubt if they be mad or sane.” 

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times ! You have 
taken a weight- off my mind. If you will let me, I shall give 
you a paper to read. It is long, but I have typewritten it out. 
It will tell you my trouble and Jonathan’s. It is the copy of 
his journal when abroad, and all that happened. I dare not 
say anything of it; you will read for yourself and judge. 
And then when I see you, perhaps, you will be very kind and 
tell me what you think.” 

“I promise,” he said as I gave him the papers ; “I shall in 
the morning, so soon as I can, come to see you and your hus- 
band, if I may.” 

“Jonathan will be here at half-past eleven, and you must 
come to lunch with us and see him then ; you could catch the 
quick 3:34 train, which will leave you at Paddington before 
eight.” He was surprised at my knowledge of the trains off- 
hand, but he does not know that I have made up all the 
trains to and from Exeter, so that I may help Jonathan in 
case he is in a hurry. 

So he took the papers with him and went away, and I sit 
here thinking — thinking I don’t know what. 

Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker. 

“Dear Madam Mina,- “ 2S September, 6 o’clock. 

“I have read your husband’s so wonderful diary. You 
may sleep without doubt. Strange and terrible as it is, it is 


Mina Harker’s Journal 187 

true! I will pledge my life on it. It may be worse for oth- 
ers ; but for him and you there is no dread. He is a noble 
fellow ; and let me tell you from experience of men, that one 
who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that 
room — ay, and going a second time — is not one to be injured 
in permanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all 
right; this I swear, before I have even seen him; so be at 
rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things. I am 
blessed that to-day I come to see you, for I have learn all at 
once so much that again I am dazzle — dazzle more than ever, 
and I must think. 

“ Yours the most faithful, 

“Abraham Van Helsing." 

Letter, Mrs, Harker to Van Helsing. 

“25 September, 6 130 p.m. 

“My dear Dr. Van Helsing,—- 

“A thousand thanks for your kind letter, which has taken 
a great weight off my mind. And yet, if it be true, what 
terrible things there are in the world, and what an awful 
thing if that man, that monster, be really in London ! I fear 
to think. I have this moment, whilst writing, had a wire 
from Jonathan, saying that he leaves by the 6:25 to-night 
from Launceston and will be here at 10:18, so that I shall 
have no fear to-night. Will you, therefore, instead of lunch- 
ing with us, please come to breakfast at eight o’clock, if this 
be not too early for you? You can get away, if you are in 
a hurry, by the 10:30 train, which will bring you to Pad- 
dington by 2 :35. Do not answer this, as I shall take it that* 
if I do not hear, you will come to breakfast. 

“Believe me, 

“Your faithful and grateful friend, 

“Mina Harker." 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. 

26 September. — I thought never to write in this diary 
again, but the time has come. When I got home last night 
Mina had supper ready, and when we had supped she told 
me of Van Helsing’s visit, and of her having given him the 
two diaries copied out, and of how anxious she has been 
about me. She showed me in the doctor’s letter that all I 


1 88 


Dracula 


wrote down was true. It seems to have made a new man of 
me. It was the doubt as to the reality of the whole thing 
that knocked me over. I felt impotent, and in the dark, and 
distrustful. But, now that I know, I am not afraid, even of 
the Count. He has succeeded after all, then, in his design 
in getting to London, and it was he I saw. He has got 
younger, and how? Van Helsing is the man to unmask him 
and hunt him out, if he is anything like what Mina says. 
We sat late, and talked it all over. Mina is dressing, and I 
shall call at the hotel in a few minutes and bring him 
over 

He was, I think, surprised to see me. When I came into 
the room where he was, and introduced myself, he took me 
by the shoulder, and turned my face round to the light, and 
said, after a sharp scrutiny : — 

“But Madam Mina told me you were ill, that you had had 
a shock/’ It was so funny to hear my wife called “Madam 
Mina” by this kindly, strong-faced old man. I smiled, and 
said : — 

“I was ill, I have had a shock; but you have cured me 
already.” 

“And how?” 

“By your letter to Mina last night. I was in doubt, and 
then everything took a hue of unreality, and I did not know 
what to trust, even the evidence of my own senses. Not 
knowing what to trust, I did not know what to do ; and so 
had only to keep on working in what had hitherto been the 
groove of my life. The groove ceased to avail me, and I 
mistrusted myself. Doctor, you don’t know what it is to 
doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don’t; you 
couldn’t with eyebrows like yours.” He seemed pleased, and 
laughed as he said : — 

“So! You are physiognomist. I learn more here with 
each hour, I am with so much pleasure coming to you to 
breakfast; and, oh, sir, you will pardon praise from an old 
man, but you are blessed in your wife.” I would listen to 
him go on praising Mina for a day, so I simply nodded and 
stood silent. 

“She is one of God’s women, fashioned by His own hand 
to show us men and other women that there is a heaven 
where we can enter, and that its light can be here on earth. 
So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an egoist — and that, let 
me tell you, is much in this age, so sceptical and selfish. And 


Mina Harker’s Journal 189 

you, sir — I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy, and 
some of them speak of you, so I know you since some days 
from the knowing of others ; but I have seen your true self 
since last night. You will give me your hand, will you not? 
And let us be friends for all our lives.” 

We shook hands, and he was so earnest and so kind that it 
made me quite choky. 

“And now/’ he said, “may I ask you for some more help ? 
I have a great task to do, and at the beginning it is to know. 
You can help me here. Can you tell me what went before 
your going to Transylvania? Later on I may ask more help, 
and of a different kind ; but at first this will do.” 

“Look here, sir,” I said, “does what you have to do con- 
cern the Count?” 

“It does,” he said solemnly. 

“Then I am with you heart and soul. As you go by the 
10:30 train, you will not have time to read them; but I shall 
get the bundle of papers. You can take them with you and 
read them in the train.” 

After breakfast I saw him to the station. When we ware 
parting he said : — 

“Perhaps you will come to town if I send to you, and take 
Madam Mina too.” 

“We shall both come when you will,” I said. 

I had got him the morning papers and the London papers 
of the previous night, and while we wei*^ talking at the car- 
riage window, waiting for the train to start, he was turning 
them over. His eye suddenly seemed to catch something in 
one of them, The Westminster Gazette” — I knew it by the 
colour — and he grew quite white. He read something in- 
tently, groaning to himself : “Mein Gott ! Mein Gott ! So 
soon! so soon!” I do not think he remembered me at the 
moment. Just then the whistle blew, and the train moved 
off. This recalled him to himself, and he leaned out of 
the window and waved his hand, calling out: “Love to 
Madam Mina ; I shall write so soon as ever I can.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary . 

26 September . — Truly there is no such thing as finality. 
Not a week since I said “Finis,” and yet here I am starting 
fresh again, or rather going on with the same record. Until 
this afternoon I had no cause to think of what is done. 


Dracula 


190 

Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as he ever was. 
He was already well ahead with his fly business ; and he had 
just started in the spider line also ; so he had not been of any 
trouble to me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sun- 
day, and from it I gather that he is bearing up wonderfully 
well. Quincey Morris is with him, and that is much of a 
help, for he himself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quin- 
cey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that Arthur is 
beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as 
to them all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling 
down to my work with the enthusiasm which I used to have 
for it, so that I might fairly have said that the wound which 
poor Lucy left on me was becoming cicatrised. Everything 
is, however, now reopened ; and what is to be the end God 
only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he 
knows too, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet 
curiosity. He went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all 
night. To-day he came back, and almost bounded into the 
room at about half-past five o’clock, and thrust last night’s 
“Westminster Gazette’’ into my hand. 

“What do you think of that?’’ he asked as he stood back 
and folded his arms. 

I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he 
meant ; but he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph 
about children being decoyed away at Hampstead. It did 
not convey much to me, until I reached a passage where it 
described small punctured wounds on their throats. An idea 
struck me, and I looked up. “Well?” he said. 

“It is like poor Lucy’s.” 

“And what do you make of it ?” 

“Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever 
it was that injured her has injured them.” I did not quite 
understand his answer : — 

“That is true indirectly, but not directly.” 

“How do you mean, Professor?” I asked. I was a little 
inclined to take his seriousness lightly — for, after all, four 
days of rest and freedom from burning, harrowing anxiety 
does help to restore one’s spirits — but when I saw his face, 
it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our despair about 
poor Lucy, had he looked more stern. 

“Tell me!” I said. “I can hazard no opinion. I do not 
know what to think, and I have no data on which to found a 
tsnniecture.” 


Mina Harker’s Journal 191 

“Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no 
suspicion as to what poor Lucy died of; not after all the 
hints given, not only by events, but by me ?” 

“Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste 
of blood.” 

“And how the blood lost or waste?” I shook my head. 
He stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on : — 

“You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and 
your wit is bold; but you are too prejudiced. You do not 
let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and that which is outside 
your daily life is not of account to you. Do you not think 
that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet 
which are; that some people see things that others cannot? 
But there are things old and new which must not be con- 
template by men’s eyes, because they know — or think they 
know — some things which other men have told them. Ah, 
it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all ; and 
if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain. But 
yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs, 
which think themselves new ; and which are yet but the old, 
which pretend to be young — like the fine ladies at the opera, 
f suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference. 
No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor in astral bodies. 
No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in hyp- 
notism — ” 

“Yes,” I said. “Charcot has proved that pretty well.” 
He smiled as he went on: “Then you are satisfied as to it. 
Yes? And of course then you understand how it act, and 
can follow the mind of the great Charcot — alas that he is no 
more! — into the very soul of the patient that he influence. 
No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you simply 
accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion 
be a blank? No? Then tell me — for I am student of the 
brain — how you accept the hypnotism and reject the 
thought reading. Let me tell you, my friend, that there are 
things done to-day in electrical science which would have 
been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered elec- 
tricity — who would themselves not so long before have been 
burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. 
Why was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 
'Old Parr’ one hundred and sixty-nine, and yet that poor 
Lucy, with four men’s blood in her poor veins, could not live 
even one day? For, had she live one more day, we could 


Dracula 


192 

have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and 
death? Do you know the altogether of comparative an- 
atomy, and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in 
some men, and not in others? Can you tell me why, when 
other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived 
for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and 
grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of 
all the church lamps ? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, 
ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come at night and open 
the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins ; how 
in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which 
hang on the trees all day, that those who have seen describe 
as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleen 
on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them, and 
then — and then in the morning are found dead men, white as 
even Miss Lucy was ?” 

“Good God, Professor!” I said, starting up. “Do you 
mean to tell me that Lucy was bitten by such a bat ; and that 
such a thing is here in London in the nineteenth century?” 
He waved his hand for silence, and went on : — 

“Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than 
generations of men ; whv the elephant goes on and on till he 
have seen dynasties; and why the parrot never die only of 
bite of cat or dog or other complaint ? Can you tell me why 
men believe in all ages and places that there are some few 
who live on always if they be permit ; that there are men and 
women who cannot die? We all know — because science has 
vouched for the fact — that there have been toads shut up in 
rocks for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that 
only hold him since the youth of the world. Can you tell 
me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die and have 
been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and 
the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut 
again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal, 
and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up 
and walk amongst them as before?” Here I interrupted 
him. I was getting bewildered ; he so crowded on mv mind 
his list of nature’s eccentricities and possible impossibilities 
that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea 
that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to 
do in his study at Amsterdam ; but he used th^n to tell me 
the thing, so that I could have the object of thought in mind 


Mina Harker’s Journal 193 

*11 the time. But now I was without this help, yet I wanted 
to follow him, so I said : — 

“Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the 
thesis, so that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At 
present I am going in my mind from point to point as a mad 
man, and not a sane one, follows an idea. I feel like a novice 
blundering through a bog in a mist, jumping from one tus- 
sock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without 
knowing where I am going/' 

“That is good image,” he said. “Well, I shall tell you 
My thesis is this : I want you to believe.” 

“To believe what?” 

“To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. 
I heard once of an American who so defined faith : ‘that fac- 
ulty which enables us to believe things which we know to be 
untrue/ For one, I follow that man. He meant that we 
shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of truth check 
the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway 
truck. We get the small truth first. Good ! We keep him. 
and we value him; but all the same we must not let him 
think himself all the truth in the universe.” 

“Then you want me not to let some previous conviction 
injure the receptivity of my mind with regard to some 
strange matter. Do I read your lesson aright?” 

“Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach 
you. Now that you are willing to understand, you have 
taken the first step to understand. You think then that those 
so small holes in the children's throats were made by the 
same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?” 

“I suppose so” He stood up and said solemnly: — 

“Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so ! but alas ! 
no. It is worse, far, far worse.” 

“In God’s name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you 
mean?” I cried. 

He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, 
and placed his elbows on the table, covering his face with 
his hands as he spoke : — 

“They were made by Miss Lucyl” 


CHAPTER XV 

dr. seward's diary — continued . 

For a while sheer anger mastered me ; it was as if he had 
during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table 
hard and rose up as I said to him : — 

“Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?" He raised his head 
and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness of his face 
calmed me at once. “Would I were!" he said. “Madness 
were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my 
friend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so 
long to tell you so simple a thing? Was it because I hate 
you and have hated you all my life ? Was it because I wished 
to give you pain? Was it that I wanted, now so late, re- 
venge for that time when you saved my life, and from a fear- 
ful death ? Ah no !" 

“Forgive me," said I. He went on : — 

“My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the 
breaking to you, for I know you have loved that so sweet 
lady. But even yet I do not expect you to believe. It is so 
hard to accept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt 
such to be possible when we have always believed the ‘no’ of 
it ; it is more hard still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and 
of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove it. 
Dare you come with me?" 

This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such * 
truth; Byron excepted from the category, jealousy. 

“ And prove the very truth he most abhorred.” 

He saw my hesitation, and spoke : — 

“The logic is simple, no madman’s logic this time, jumping 
from tussock to tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, 
then proof will be relief ; at worst it will not harm. If it be 
true! Ah, there is the dread; yet very dread should help 
my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come, I tell you 
what I propose : first, that we go off now and see that child 
in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where 
the papers say the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of 
yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let 

194 


Dr. Seward’s Diary ig § 

two scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We 
shall tell him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And 
then — ” 

“And then?” He took a key from his pocket and held it 
up. “And then we spend the night, you and I, in the church- 
yard where Lucy lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I 
had it from the coffin-man to give to Arthur.” My heart 
sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful ordeal 
before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up 
what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the 
afternoon was passing 

We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken 
some food, and altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent 
took the bandage from its throat, and showed us the punc- 
tures. There was no mistaking the similarity to those which 
had been on Lucy’s throat. They were smaller, and the 
edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to 
what he attributed them, and he replied that it must have 
been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat ; but, for his own 
part, he was inclined to think that it was one of the bats 
which are so numerous on the northern heights of London. 
“Out of so many harmless ones,” he said, “there may be 
some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant 
species. Some sailor may have brought one home, and it 
managed to escape ; or even from the Zoological Gardens a 
young one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a 
vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days 
ago a wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this di- 
rection. For a week after, the children were playing noth- 
ing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and in every alley in 
the place until this ‘bloofer lady’ scare came along, since 
when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even this 
poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if 
he might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to 
go, he said he wanted to play with the ‘bloofer lady/ ” 

“I hope,” said Van Helsing, “that when you are sending 
the child home you will caution its parents to keep strict 
watch over it. These fancies to stray are most dangerous ; 
and if the child were to remain out another night, it would 
probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will not 
let it away for some days ?” 

“Certainly not, not for a week at least ; longer if the wound 
is not Jiealed.” 


Dracula 


196 

Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reck- 
oned on, and the sun had dipped before we came out. When 
Van Helsing saw how dark it was, he said : — 

'There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. 
Come, let us seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we 
shall go on our way.” 

We dined at “Jack Straw’s Castle” along with a little 
crowd of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. 
About ten o’clock we started from the inn. It was then very 
dark, and the scattered lamps made the darkness greater 
when we were once outside their individual radius. The 
Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he 
went on unhesitatingly ; but, as for me, I was in quite a mix- 
up as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and 
fewer people, till at last we were somewhat surprised when 
we met even the patrol of horse police going their usual sub- 
urban round. At last we reached the wall of the church- 
yard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty — • 
for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange 
to us — we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took 
the key, opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, 
but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There 
was a delicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness of giving 
preference on such a ghastly occasion. My companion fol- 
lowed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after 
carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a 
spring, one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad 
plight. Then he fumbled in his bag, and taking out a match- 
box and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The 
tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, 
had looked grim and gruesome enough ; but now, some days 
afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their 
whites turning to rust and their greens to browns ; when the 
spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed domi- 
nance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted 
mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and 
clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a can- 
dle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have 
been imagined It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life — - 
animal life — was not the only thing which could pass away. 

Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Hold- 
ing his candle so that he could read the coffin plates, and so 
holding it that the sperm dropped in white catches which 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 1 97 

congealed as they touched the metal, he made assurance of 
Lucy’s coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took out a 
tumscrew. 

“What are you going to do?” I asked. 

“To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced.” 
Straightway he began taking out the screws, and finally 
lifted off the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The 
sight was almost too much for me. It seemed to be as much 
an affront to the dead as it would have been to have stripped 
off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took hold 
of his hand to stop him. He only said: “You shall see,” 
and again fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. 
Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift down- 
ward stab, which made me wince, he made a small hole, 
which was, however, big enough to admit the point of the 
saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old 
corpse. We doctors, who have had to study our dangers, 
have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back 
towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for a 
moment ; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of 
the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. 
Taking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards 
the foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the 
aperture, motioned to me to look. 

I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty. 

It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a consid- 
erable shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now 
more sure than ever of his ground, and so emboldened ta 
proceed in his task. “Are you satisfied now, friend John?” 
he asked. 

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature 
awake within me as I answered him : — 

“I am satisfied that Lucy’s body is not in that coffin ; but 
that only proves one thing.” 

“And what is that, friend John ?” 

“That it is not there.” 

“That is good logic,” he said, “so far as it goes. But how 
do you — how can you — account for it not being there ?” 

“Perhaps a body-snatcher,” I suggested. “Some of the 
undertaker’s people may have stolen it.” I felt that I was 
speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I 
could suggest. The Professor sighed. “Ah well !” he said ; 
“we must have more proof. Come with me.” 


Dracula 


198 

He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things 
and placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the 
candle also in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. 
Behind us he closed the door and locked it. He handed me 
the key, saying: “Will you keep it? You had better be 
assured.” I laughed — it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am 
bound to say — as I motioned him to keep it. “A key is 
nothing,” I said; “there may be duplicates; and anyhow it 
is not difficult to pick a lock of that kind.” He said nothing, 
but put the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch at 
one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at the 
other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his 
dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees 
hid it from my sight. 

It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I 
heard a distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and 
two. I was chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Pro- 
fessor for taking me on such an errand and with myself for 
coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly observ- 
ant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust ; so altogether 
I had a dreary, miserable time. 

Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something 
like a white streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at 
the side of the churchyard farthest from the tomb; at the 
same time a dark mass moved from the Professor’s side of 
the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I too 
moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-ofif 
tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, 
and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little way off, 
beyond a line of scattered juniper-trees, which marked the 
pathway to the church, a white, dim figure flitted in the di- 
rection of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden by trees, 
and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard 
the rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the 
white figure, and coming over, found the Professor holding 
in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he held it out to 
me, and said : — 

“Are you satisfied now ?” 

“No,” I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive. 

“Do you not see the child ?” 

“Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it 
wounded?” I asked. 

“We shall see,” said the Professor, and with one imouls* 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 199 

we took our way out of the churchyard, he carrying the 
sleeping child. 

When we had got some little distance away, we went into 
a clump of trees, and struck a match, and looked at the 
child’s throat. It was without a scratch or scar of any kind. 

“Was I right?” I asked triumphantly. 

“We were just in time,” said the Professor thankfully. 

We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, 
and so consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police- 
station we should have to give some account of our move- 
ments during the night ; at least, we should have had to make 
some statement as to how we had come to find the child. So 
finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and 
when we heard a policeman coming, would leave it where he 
could not fail to find it ; we would then seek our way home 
as quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge of 
Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman’s heavy tramp, and 
laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until 
he saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his 
exclamation of astonishment, and then we went away silently. 
By good chance we got a cab near the “Spaniards,” and 
drove to town. 

I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get 
a few hours’ sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. 
He insists that I shall go with him on another expedition. 

27 September . — It was two o’clock before we found a 
suitable opportunity for our attempt. The funeral held at 
noon was all completed, and the last stragglers of the mourn- 
ers had taken themselves lazily away, when, looking carefully 
from behind a clump of alder-trees, we saw the sexton lock 
the gate after him. We knew then that we were safe till 
morning did we desire it; but the Professor told me that we 
should not want more than an hour at most. Again I felt 
that horrid sense of the reality of things, in which any effort 
of imagination seemed out of place ; and I realised distinctly 
the perils of the law which we were incurring in our un- 
hallowed work. Besides, I felt it was all so useless. Out- 
rageous as it was to open a leaden coffin, to see if a woman 
dead nearly a week were really dead, it now seemed the 
height of folly to open the tomb again, when we knew, from 
the evidence of our own eyesight, that the coffin was empty. 
I shrugged my shoulders, however, and rested silent, for Van 


200 


Dracula 


Helsing had a way of going on his own road, no matter who 
remonstrated. He took the key, opened the vault, and again 
courteously motioned me to precede. The place was not so 
gruesome as last night, but oh, how unutterably mean-look- 
ing when the sunshine streamed in. Van Helsing walked 
over to Lucy's coffin, and I followed. He bent over and 
again forced back the leaden flange; and then a shock of 
surprise and dismay shot through me. 

There lay Lucy, seemingly just as we had seen her the 
night before her funeral. She was, if possible, more radi- 
antly beautiful than ever; and I could not believe that she 
was dead. The lips were red, nay redder than before ; and 
on the cheeks was a delicate bloom. 

‘‘Is this a juggle?" I said to him. 

“Are you convinced now ?" said the Professor in response, 
and as he spoke he put over his hand, and in a way that made 
me shudder, pulled back the dead lips and showed the white 
teeth. 

“See," he went on, “see, they are even sharper than before. 
With this and this" — and he touched one of the canine teeth 
and that below it — “the little children can be bitten. Are 
you of belief now, friend John?" Once more, argumenta- 
tive hostility woke within me. I could not accept such an 
overwhelming idea as he suggested ; so, with an attempt to 
argue of which I was even at the moment ashamed, I said : — - 

“She may have been placed here since last night." 

“Indeed? That is so, and by whom?" 

“I do not know. Some one has done it." 

“And yet she has been dead one week. Most peoples in 
that time would not look so." I had no answer for this, so 
was silent. Van Helsing did not seem to notice my silence ; 
at any rate, he showed neither chagrin nor triumph. He 
was looking intently at the face of the dead woman, raising 
the eyelids and looking at the eyes, and once more opening 
the lips and examining the teeth. Then he turned to me and 
said : — 

“Here, there is one thing which is different from all re- 
corded ; here is some dual life that is not as the common. She 
was bitten by the vampire when she was in a trance, sleep- 
walking — oh, you start ; you do not know that, friend John, 
but you shall know it all later — and in trance could he best 
come to take more blood. In trance she died, and in trance 
she is Un-Dead, too. So it is that she differ from all other. 


201 


Dr. Seward's Diary 

Usually when the Un-Dead sleep at home” — as he spoke he 
made a comprehensive sweep of his arm to designate what 
to a vampire was. “home” — “their face show what they are, 
but this so sweet that was when she not Un-Dead she go back 
to the nothings of the common dead. There is no malign 
there, see, and so it make hard that I must kill her in her 
sleep.” This turned my blood cold, and it began to dawn 
upon me that I was accepting Van Helsing’s theories; but if 
she were really dead, what was there of terror in the idea of 
killing her? He looked up at me, and evidently saw the 
change in my face, for he said almost joyously: — 

“Ah, you believe now ?” 

I answered ; “Do not press me too hard all at once. I 
am willing to accept. How will you do this bloody work ?” 

“I shall cut off her head and fill her mouth with garlic, and 
I shall drive a stake through her body.” It made me shud- 
der to think of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I 
had loved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as I had 
expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the pres- 
ence of this being, this Un-Dead, as Van Helsing called it, 
and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or 
all objective? 

I waited a considerable time for Van Helsing to begin, but 
he stood as if wrapped in thought. Presently he closed the 
catch of his bag with a snap, and said : — 

“I have been thinking, and have made up my mind as to 
what is best. If I did simply follow my inclining I would do 
now, at this moment, what is to be done; but there are other 
things to follow, and things that are thousand times more 
difficult in that them we do not know. This is simple. She 
have yet no life taken, though that is of time ; and to act now 
would be to take danger from her for ever. But then we 
may have to want Arthur, and how shall we tell him of this ? 
If you, who saw the wounds on Lucy’s throat, and saw the 
wounds so similar on the child’s at the hospital ; .if you, who 
saw the coffin empty last night and full to-day with a woman 
who have not change only to be more rose and more beau- 
tiful in a whole week, after she die — if you know of this and 
know of the white figure last night that brought the child to 
the churchyard, and yet of your own senses you did not be- 
lieve, how," then, can I expect Arthur, who know none of 
those things, to believe? He doubted me when I took him 
from her kiss when she was dying. I know he has forgiven 


202 


Dracula 


me because in some mistaken idea I have done things that 
prevent him say good-bye as he ought; and he may think 
that in some more mistaken idea this woman was buried 
alive; and that in most mistake of all we have killed her. 
He will then argue back that it is we, mistaken ones, that 
have killed her by our ideas ; and so he will be much un- 
happy always. Yet he never can be sure; and that is the 
worst of all. And he will sometimes think that she he loved 
was buried alive, and that will paint his dreams with hor- 
rors of what she must have suffered; and again, he will 
think that we may be right, and that his so beloved was, after 
all, an Un-Dead. No! I told him once, and since then I 
learn much. Now, since I know it is all true, a hundred 
thousand times more do I know that he must pass through 
the bitter waters to reach the sweet. He, poor fellow, must 
have one hour that will make the very face of heaven grow 
black to him ; then we can act for good all round and send 
him peace. My mind is made up. Let us go. You return 
home for to-night to your asylum, and see that all be well. 
As for me, I shall spend the night here in this churchyard in 
my own way. To-morrow night you will come to me to the 
Berkeley Hotel at ten of the clock. I shall send for Arthur 
to come too, and also that so fine young man of America that 
gave his blood. Later we shall all have work to do. I come 
with you so far as Piccadilly and there dine, for I must be 
back here before the sun set.” 

So we locked the tomb and came away, and got over the 
wall of the churchyard, which was not much of a task, and 
drove back to Piccadilly. 

Note left by Van Helsing in his portmanteau , Berkeley 
Hotel 4 directed to John Seward, M . D. 

(Not delivered.) 

"27 September. 

“Friend John,— 

“I write this in case anything should happen. I go alone 
to watch in that churchyard. It pleases me that the Un- 
Dead, Miss Lucy, shall not leave to-night, that so on the 
morrow night she may be more eager. Therefore I shall 
fix some things she like not — garlic and a crucifix — and so 
seal up the door of the tomb. She is young as Un 'Dead, and 
will heed. Moreover, these are only to prevent her coming 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 203 

out ; they may not prevail on her wanting to get in ; for then, 
the Un-Dead is desperate, and must find the line of least re- 
sistance, whatsoever it may be. I shall be at hand all the 
night from sunset till after the sunrise, and if there be aught 
that may be learned I shall learn it. For Miss Lucy, or from 
her, I have no fear ; but that other to whom is there that she 
is Un-Dead, he have now the power to seek her tomb and find 
shelter. He is cunning, as I know from Mr. Jonathan and 
from the way that all along he have fooled us when he played 
with us for Miss Lucy’s life, and we lost ; and in many ways 
the Un-Dead are strong. He have always the strength in 
his hand of twenty men ; even we four who gave our strength 
to Miss Lucy it also is all to him. Besides, he can summon 
his wolf and I know not what. So if it be that he come 
thither on this night he shall find me ; but none other shall — 
until it be too late. But it may be that he will not attempt 
the place. There is no reason why he should ; his hunting 
ground is more full of game than the churchyard where the 
Un-Dead woman sleep, and one old man watch. 

“Therefore I write this in case .... Take the papers 
that are with this, the diaries of Harker and the rest, and 
read them, and then find this great Un-Dead, and cut off his 
head and burn his heart or drive a stake through it, so that 
the world may rest from him. 

“If it be so, farewell. 

“Van Helsing” 


Dr. Seward's Diary. 

28 September . — It is wonderful what a good night's sleep 
will do for one. Yesterday I was almost willing to accept 
Van Helsing's monstrous ideas ; but now they seem to start 
out lurid before me as outrages on common sense. I have 
no doubt that he believes it all. I wonder if his mind can 
have become in any way unhinged. Surely there must be 
some rational explanation of all these mysterious things. Is 
it possible that the Professor can have done it himself? He 
is so abnormally clever that if he went off his head he would 
carry out his intent with regard to some fixed idea in a won- 
derful way. I am loath to think it, and indeed it would be 
almost as great a marvel as the other to find that Van Hel- 
sing was mad; but anyhow I shall watch him carefully. I 
may get some light on the mystery. 


Dracula 


204 

29 September , morning Last night, at a little 

before ten o’clock, Arthur and Quincey came into Van Hel 
sing’s room ; he told us all that he wanted us to do, but es- 
pecially addressing himself to Arthur, as if all our wills were 
centred in his. He began by saying that he hoped we would 
all come with him too, “for,” he said, “there is a grave duty 
to be done there. You were doubtless surprised at my let- 
ter?” This query was directly addressed to Lord Godalm' 
ing. 

“I was. It rather upset me for a bit. There has been so 
much trouble around my house of late that I could do with- 
out any more. I have been curious, too, as to what you 
mean. Quincey and I talked it over; but the more we 
talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself 
that I’m about up a tree as to any meaning about anything.” 

“Me, too,” said Quincey Morris laconically. 

“Oh,” said the Professor, “then you are nearer the begin- 
ning, both of you, than friend John here, who has to go a 
long way back before he can even get so far as to begin.” 

It was evident that he recognised my return to my old 
doubting frame of mind without my saying a word. Then, 
turning to the other two, he said with intense gravity : — 

“I want your permission to do what I think good this 
night. It is, I know, much to ask; and when you know 
what it is I propose to do you will know, and only then, how 
much. Therefore may I ask that you promise me in the 
dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me 
for a time — I must not disguise from myself the possibility 
that such may be — you shall not blame yourselves for any- 
thing.” 

“That’s frank anyhow,” broke in Quincey. “I’ll answer 
for the Professor. I don’t quite see his drift, but I swear 
he’s honest ; and that’s good enough for me.” 

“I thank you, sir,” said Van Helsing proudly. “I have 
done myself the honour of counting you one trusting friend, 
and such endorsement is dear to me.” He held out a hand, 
which Quincey took. 

Then Arthur spoke out : — 

“Dr. Van Helsing, I don’t quite like to ‘buy a pig in a 
poke/ as they say in Scotland, and if it be anything in which 
my honour as a gentleman or my faith as a Christian is con- 
cerned, I cannot make such a promise. If you can assure 
tne that what you intend does not violate either of these 


Dr* Seward’s Diary 205 

two, then I give my consent at once ; though, for the life of 
me, I cannot understand what you are driving at.” 

“I accept your limitation,” said Van Helsing, ‘‘and all I 
ask of you is that if you feel it necessary to condemn any act 
of mine, you will first consider it well and be satisfied that it 
does not violate your reservations.” 

“Agreed !” said Arthur ; “that is only fair. And now that 
the pourparlers are over, may I ask what it is we are to do ?” 

“I want you to come with me, and to come in secret, to 
the churchyard at Kingstead.” 

Arthur’s face fell as he said in an amazed sort of way:— 

“Where poor Lucy is buried?” The Professor bowed. 
Arthur went on: “And when there?” 

“To enter the tomb !” Arthur stood up. 

“Professor, are you in earnest; or it is some monstrous 
joke? Pardon me, I see that you are in earnest.” He sat 
down again, but I could see that he sat firmly and proudly, 
as one who is on his dignity. There was silence until he 
asked again: — 

“And when in the tomb ?” 

“To open the coffin.” 

“This is too much !” he said, angrily rising again. “I am 
willing to be patient in all things that are reasonable ; but in 

this — this desecration of the grave — of one who ” He 

fairly choked with indignation. The Professor looked pity- 
ingly at him. 

“If I could spare you one pang, my poor friend,” he said, 
“God knows I would. But this night our feet must tread in 
thorny paths ; or later, and for ever, the feet you love must 
walk in paths of flame!” 

Arthur looked up with set, white face and said : — 

“Take care, sir, take care !” 

“Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?” said 
Van Helsing. “And then you will at least know the limit of 
my purpose. Shall I go on?” 

“That’s fair enough,” broke in Morris. 

After a pause Van Helsing went on, evidently with an 
effort : — 

“Miss Lucy is dead; is it not so? Yes! Then there can 
be no wrong to her. But if she be not dead ” 

Arthur jumped to his feet. 

“Good God !” he cried. “What do you mean? Has there 


206 


Dracula 


been any mistake ; has she been buried alive ?” He groaned 
in anguish that not even hope could soften. 

“I did not say she was alive, my child ; I did not think it. 
I go no further than to say that she might be Un-Dead.” 

“Un-Dead! Not alive! What do you mean? Is this all 
a nightmare, or what is k?” 

“There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which 
age by age they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are 
now on the verge of one. But I have not done. May I cut 
off the head of dead Miss Lucy?” 

“Heavens and earth, no !” cried Arthur in a storm of pas- 
sion. “Not for the wide world will I consent to any mutila- 
tion of her dead body. Dr. Van Helsing, you try me too 
far. What have I done to you that you should torture me 
so ? What did that poor, sweet girl do that you should want 
to cast such dishonour on her grave? Are you mad that 
speak such things, or am I mad that listen to them? Don’t 
dare to think more of such a desecration; I shall not give 
my consent to anything you do. I have a duty to do in pro- 
tecting her grave from outrage ; and, by God, I shall do it !” 

Van Helsing rose up from where he had all the time been 
seated, and said, gravely and sternly : — 

“My Lord Godaiming, I, too, have a duty to do, a duty 
to others, a duty to you, a duty to the dead ; and, by God, I 
shall do it ! All I ask you now is that you come with me, that 
you look and listen ; and if when later I make the same re- 
quest you do not be more eager for its fulfilment even than 
I am, then — then I shall do my duty, whatever it may seem 
to me. And then, to follow of your Lordship’s wishes, I 
shall hold myself at your disposal to render an account to 
you, when and where you will.” His voice broke a little, and 
he went on with a voice full of pity : — 

“But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In 
a long life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and 
which sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so 
heavy a task as now. Believe me that if the time comes for 
you to change your mind towards me, one look from you will 
wipe away all this so sad hour, for I would do what a man 
can to save you from sorrow. Just think. For why should 
I give myself so much of labour and so much of sorrow ? I 
have come here from my own land to do what I can of good ; 
at the first to please my friend John, and then to help a sweet 
young lady, whom, too, I came to love. For her-- 1 am 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 207 

ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness — I gave 
what you gave ; the blood of my veins ; I gave it, I, who was 
not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her friend. 
I gave to her my nights and days — before death, after death ; 
and if my death can do her good even now, when she is the 
dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely.” He said this with a 
very grave, sweet pride, and Arthur was much affected by it. 
He took the old man’s hand and said in a broken voice : — 
“Oh, it is hard to think of it, and I cannot understand; 
but at least I shall go with you and wait.” 


CHAPTER XVI 

dr. seward's diary — continued 

It was just a quarter before twelve o'clock when we got 
into the churchyard over the low wall. The night was dark, 
with occasional gleams of moonlight between the rents of 
the heavy clouds that scudded across the sky. We all kept 
somehow close together, with Van Helsing slightly in front 
as he led the way. When we had come close to the tomb I 
looked well at Arthur, for I feared that the proximity to a 
place laden with so sorrowful a memory would upset him ; 
but he bore himself well. I took it that the very mystery of 
the proceeding was in some way a counteractant to his grief. 
The Professor unlocked the door, and seeing a natural hesi- 
tation amongst us for various reasons, solved the difficulty 
by entering first himself. The rest of us followed, and he 
closed the door. He then lit a dark lantern and pointed to 
the coffin. Arthur stepped forward hesitatingly; Van Hel- 
sing said to me : — 

“You were with me here yesterday. Was the body of 
Miss Lucy in that coffin ?” 

“It was.” The Professor turned to the rest saying : — 

“You hear; and yet there is no one who does not believe 
with me.” He took his screwdriver and again took off the 
lid of the coffin. Arthur looked on, very pale but silent; 
when the lid was removed he stepped forward. He evidently 
did not know that there was a leaden coffin, or, at any rate, 
had not thought of it. When he saw the rent in the lead, the 
blood rushed to his face for an instant, but as quickly fell 
away again, so that he remained of a ghastly whiteness ; he 
was still silent. Van Helsing forced back the leaden flange, 
and we all looked in and recoiled. 

The coffin was empty ! 

For several minutes no one spoke a word. The silence 
was broken by Quincey Morris : — 

“Professor, I answered for you. Your word is all I want. 
I wouldn't ask such a thing ordinarily — I wouldn’t so dis- 
honour you as to imply a doubt ; but this is a mystery that 
go*s beyond any honour or dishonour. Is this your doing ?'* 

208 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 209 

"I swear to you by all that I hold sacred that I have not 
removed nor touched her. What happened was this : Two 
nights ago my friend Seward and I came here — with good 
purpose, believe me. I opened that coffin, which was then 
sealed up, and we found it, as now empty. We then waited, 
and saw something white come through the trees. The next 
day we came here in day-time, and she lay there. Did she 
not, friend John?” 

‘Wes.” 

‘That night we were just in time. One more so small 
child was missing, and we find it, thank God, unharmed 
amongst the graves. Yesterday I came here before sun- 
down, for at sundown the Un-Dead can move. I waited here 
all the night till the sun rose, but I saw nothing. It was 
most probable that it was because I had laid over the clamps 
of those doors garlic, which the Un-Dead cannot bear, and 
other things which they shun. Last night there was no exo- 
dus, so to-night before the sundown I took away my garlic 
and other things. And so it is we find this coffin empty. But 
bear with me. So far there is much that is strange. Wait 
you with me outside, unseen and unheard, and things much 
stranger are yet to be. So” — here he shut the dark slide of 
his lantern — “now to the outside.” He opened the door, and 
we filed out, he coming last and locking the door behind him. 

Oh ! but it seemed fresh and pure in the night air after the 
terror of that vault. How sweet it was to see the cloud* 
race by, and the passing gleams of the moonlight between 
the scudding clouds crossing and passing — like the gladness 
and sorrow of a man’s life ; how sweet it was to breathe the 
fresh air, that had no taint of death and decay ; how human- 
ising to see the red lighting of the sky beyond the hill, and to 
hear far away the muffled roar that marks the life of a great 
city. Each in his own way was solemn and overcome. Ar- 
thur was silent, and was, I could see, striving to grasp the 
purpose and the inner meaning of the mystery. I was my- 
self tolerably patient, and half inclined again to throw aside 
doubt and to accept Van Helsing’s conclusions. Quincey 
Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all 
things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with 
hazard of all he has to stake. Not being able to smoke, he 
cut himself a good-sized plug of tobacco and began to chew. 
As to Van Helsing, he was employed in a definite way. First 
he took from his bag a mass of what looked like thin, wafer* 

(14) 


210 


Dracula 


like biscuit, which was carefully rolled up in a white napkin ; 
next he took out a double-handful of some whitish stuff, like 
dough or putty. He crumbled the wafer up fine and worked 
it into the mass between his hands. This he then took, and 
rolling it into thin strips, began to lay them into the crevices 
between the door and its setting in the tomb. I was some- 
what puzzled at this, and being close, asked him what it was 
that he was doing. Arthur and Quincey drew near also, as 
they too were curious. He answered: — 

“I am closing the tomb, so that the Un-Dead may not en- 
ter.” 


‘‘And is that stuff you have put there going to do it?” 
asked Quincey, “Great Scott ! Is this a game ?” 

“It is” 

“What is that which you are using?” This time the ques- 
tion was by Arthur. Van Helsing reverently lifted his hat as 
he answered : — 

“The Host. I brought it from Amsterdam. I have an 
Indulgence.” It was an answer that appalled the most scep- 
tical of us, and we felt individually that in the presence of 
such earnest purpose as the Professor’s, a purpose which 
could thus use the to him most sacred of things, it was im- 
possible to distrust. In respectful silence we took the places 
assigned to us close round the tomb, but hidden from the 
sight of any one approaching. I pitied the others, especially 
Arthur. I had myself been apprenticed by my former visits 
to this watching horror; and yet I, who had up to an hour 
ago repudiated the proofs, felt my heart sink within me. 
Never did tombs look so ghastly white ; never did cypress, or 
yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funereal gloom ; 
never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously; never 
did bough creak so mysteriously ; and never did the far-away 
howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the 
night. 

There was a long spell of silence, a big, aching void, and 
then from the Professor a keen “S-s-s-s !” He pointed ; and' 
far down the avenue of yews we saw a white figure advance 
— a dim white figure, which held something dark at its 
breast. The figure stopped, and at the moment a ray of moon- 
light fell upon the masses of driving clouds and showed in 
startling prominence a dark-haired woman, dressed in the 
cerements of the grave. We could not see the face, for it 
was bent down over what we saw to be a fair-haired child 


21 I 


Dr. Seward's Diary 

There was a pause and a sharp little cry, such as a child 
gives in sleep, or a dog as it lies before the fire and dreams. 
We were starting forward, but the Professor’s warning 
hand, seen by us as he stood behind a yew-tree, kept us back ; 
and then as we looked the white figure moved forwards 
again. It was now near enough for us to see clearly, and 
the moonlight still held. My own heart grew cold as ice, 
and I could hear the gasp of Arthur, as we recognised the 
features of Lucy Westenra. Lucy Westenra, but yet how 
changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heart- 
less cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness. Van 
Helsing stepped out, and, obedient to his gesture, we all ad- 
vanced too ; the four of us ranged in a line before the door 
of the tomb. Van Helsing raised his lantern and drew the 
slide ; by the concentrated light that fell on Lucy’s face we 
could see that the lips were crimson with fresh blood, and 
that the stream had trickled over her chin and stained the 
purity of her lawn death-robe. 

We shuddered with horror. I could see by the tremulous 
light that even Van Helsing’s iron nerve had failed. Arthur 
was next to me, and if I had not seized his arm and held him 
up, he would have fallen. 

When Lucy — I call the thing that was before us Lucy be- 
cause it bore her shape — saw us she drew back with an an- 
gry snarl, such as a cat gives when taken unawares; then 
her eyes ranged over us. Lucy’s eyes in form and colour; 
but Lucy’s eyes unclean and full of hell-fire, instead of the 
pure, gentle orbs we knew. At that moment the remnant 
of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to 
be killed, I could have done it with savage delight. As she 
looked, her eyes blazed with unholy light, and the face be- 
came wreathed with a voluptuous smile. Oh, God, how it 
made me shudder to see it! With a careless motion, she 
flung to the ground, callous as a devil, the child that up to 
now she had clutched strenuously to her breast, growling 
over it as a dog growls over a bone. The child gave a sharp 
cry, and lay there moaning. There was a cold-bloodedness 
in the act which wrung a groan from Arthur ; when she ad- 
vanced to him with outstretched arms and a wanton smile, 
he fell back and hid his face in his hands. 

She still advanced, however, and with a languorous, volup- 
tuous grace, said : — 

- v Come to me Arthur. Leave these others and come tc 


Z12 


Dracula 


me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest 
together. Come, my husband, come!” 

There was something diabolically sweet in her tones — 
something of the tingling of glass when struck — which rang 
through the brains even of us who heard the words ad- 
dressed to another. As for Arthur, he seemed under a spell ; 
moving his hands from his face, he opened wide his arms. 
She was leaping for them, when Van Helsing sprang for- 
ward and held between them his little golden crucifix. She 
recoiled from it, and, with a suddenly distorted face, full of 
rage, dashed past him as if to enter the tomb. 

When within a foot or two of the door, however, she 
stopped as if arrested by some irresistible force. Then she 
turned, and her face was shown in the clear burst of moon- 
light and by the lamp, which had now no quiver from Van 
Helsing’s iron nerves. Never did I see such baffled malice 
on a face ; and never, I trust, shall such ever be seen again 
by mortal eyes. The beautiful colour became livid, the eyes 
seemed to throw out sparks of hell-fire, the brows were 
wrinkled as though the folds of the flesh were the coils of 
Medusa’s snakes, and the lovely, blood-stained mouth grew 
to an open square, as in the passion masks of the Greeks and 
Japanese. If ever a face meant death — if looks could kill — • 
we saw it at that moment. 

And so for full half a minute, which seemed an eternity, 
she remained between the lifted crucifix and the sacred clos- 
ing of her means of entry. Van Helsing broke the silence 
by asking Arthur : — 

“Answer me, oh my friend! Am I to proceed in my 
work ?” 

Arthur threw himself on his knees, and hid his face in his 
hands, as he answered : — 

“Do as you will, friend ; do as you will. There can be no 
horror like this ever any more;” and he groaned in spirit. 
Quincey and I simultaneously moved towards him, and took 
his arms. We could hear the click of the closing lantern as 
Van Helsing held it down; coming close to the tomb, he 
began to remove from the chinks some of the sacred emblem 
which he had placed there. We all looked on in horrified 
amazement as we saw, when he stood back, the woman, with 
a corporeal body as real at that moment as our own, pass in 
through the interstice where scarce a knife-blade could have 
gone. We all felt a glad sense of relief when we saw the 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 213 

Professor calmly restoring the strings of putty to the edges 
of the door. 

When this was done, he lifted the child and said: 

“Come now, my friends ; we can do no more till to-morrow. 
There is a funeral at noon, so here we shall all come before 
long after that. The friends of the dead will all be gone by 
two, and when the sexton lock the gate we shall remain. 
Then there is more to do; but not like this of to-night. As 
for this little one, he is not much harm, and by to-morrow 
night he shall be well. We shall leave him where the police 
will find him, as on the other night; and then to home.” 
Coming close to Arthur, he said : — 

“My friend Arthur, you have had sore trial ; but after, 
when you will look back, you will see how it was necessary. 
You are now in the bitter waters, my child. By this time to- 
morrow you will, please God, have passed them, and have 
drunk of the sweet waters ; so do not mourn overmuch. Till 
then I shall not ask you to forgive me.” 

Arthur and Quincey came home with me, and we tried to 
cheer each other on the way. We had left the child in safety, 
and were tired ; so we all slept with more or less reality of 
sleep. 

29 September, night . — A little before twelve o'clock we 
three — Arthur, Quincey Morris, and myself — called for the 
Professor. It was odd to notice that by common consent we 
had all put on black clothes. Of course, Arthur wore black, 
for he was in deep mourning, but the rest of us wore it by 
instinct. We got to the churchyard by half-past one, and 
strolled about, keeping out of official observation, so that 
when the gravediggers had completed their task and the 
sexton, under the belief that every one had gone, had locked 
the gate, we had the place all to ourselves. Van Helsing, 
instead of his little black bag, had with him a long leather 
one, something like a cricketing bag; it was manifestly of 
fair weight. 

When we were alone and had heard the last of the foot- 
steps die out up the road, we silently, and as if by ordered 
intention, followed the Professor to the tomb. He unlocked 
the door, and we entered, closing it behind us. Then he 
took from his bag the lantern, which he lit, and also two wax 
candles, which, when lighted, he stuck, by melting their own 
ends, on other coffins, so that they might give light sufficient 


Dracula 


214 

to work by. When he again lifted the lid off Lucy's coffin 
we all looked — Arthur trembling like an aspen — and saw 
that the body lay there in all its death-beauty. But there 
was no love in my own heart, nothing but loathing for the 
foul Thing which had taken Lucy's shape without her soul. 
I could see even Arthur’s face grow hard as he looked. Pres- 
ently he said to Van Helsing : — 

“Is this really Lucy’s body, or only a demon in her 
shape ?” 

“It is her body, and yet not it. But wait a while, and you 
shall see her as she was, and is.” 

She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there ; the 
pointed teeth, the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth — which it 
made one shudder to see — the whole carnal and unspiritual 
appearance, seeming like a devilish mockery of Lucy’s sweet 
purity. Van Helsing, with his usual methodicalness, began 
taking the various contents from his bag and placing them 
ready for use. First he took out a soldering iron and some 
plumbing solder, and then a small oil-lamp, which gave out, 
when lit in a corner of the tomb, gas which burned at fierce 
heat with a blue flame ; then his operating knives, which he 
placed to hand; and last a round wooden stake, some two 
and a half or three inches thick and about three feet long. 
One end of it was hardened by charring in the fire, and was 
sharpened to a fine point. With this stake came a heavy 
hammer, such as in households is used in the coal-cellar for 
breaking the lumps. To me, a doctor’s preparations for 
work of any kind are stimulating and bracing, but the effect 
of these things on both Arthur and Quincey was to cause 
them a sort of consternation. They both, however, kept 
their courage, and remained silent and quiet. 

When all was ready, Van Helsing said : — 

“Before we do anything, let me tell you this ; it is out of 
the lore and experience of the ancients and of all those who 
have studied the powers of the Un-Dead. When they be- 
come such, there comes with the change the curse of im- 
mortality ; they cannot die, but must go on age after age add- 
ing new victims and multiplying the evils of the world ; for 
all that die from the preying of the Un-Dead become them- 
selves Un-Dead, and prey on their kind. And so the circle 
goes on ever widening, like as the ripples from a stone 
thrown in the water. Friend Arthur, if you had met that 
kiss which you know of before poor Lucy die ; or again, last 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 215 

night when you open your arms to her, you would in time, 
when you had died, have become nosferatu , as they call it in 
Eastern Europe, and would all time make more of those Un- 
Deads that so have fill us with horror. The career of this so 
unhappy dear lady is but just begun. Those children whose 
blood she suck are not as yet so much the worse; but if she 
live on, Un-Dead, more and more they lose their blood and 
by her power over them they come to her ; and so she draw 
their blood with that so wicked mouth. But if she die in 
truth, then all cease; the tiny wounds of the throats disap- 
pear, and they go back to their plays unknowing ever of 
what has been. But of the most blessed of all, 

when this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true 

dead, then the soul of the poor lady whom we love 
shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night 
and growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, 
she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my 
friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the 
blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there 
none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy 
to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep 
is not : ‘It was my hand that sent her to the stars ; it was the 
hand of him that loved her best ; the hand that of all she 
would herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' 
Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?” 

We all looked at Arthur. He saw, too, what we all did, 
the infinite kindness which suggested that his should be the 
hand which would restore Lucy to us as a holy, and not an 
unholy, memory; he stepped forward and said bravely, 
though his hand trembled, and his face was as pale as 
snow : — 

“My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I 
thank you. Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!” 
Van Helsing laid a hand on his shoulder, and said : — 

“Brave lad ! A moment’s courage, and it is done. This 
stake must be driven through her. It will be a fearful ordeal 
• — be not deceived in that — but it will be only a short time, 
and you will then rejoice more than your pain was great ; 
from this grim tomb you will emerge as though you tread on 
air. But you must not falter when once you have begun. 
Only think that we, your true friends, are round you, and 
that we pray for you all the time.” 


3 1 6 Dracula 

“Go on,” said Arthur hoarsely. “Tell me what I am to 
do.” 

“Take this stake in your left hand, ready to place the point 
over the heart, and the hammer in your right. Then when 
we begin our prayer for the dead — I shall read him, I have 
here the book, and the others shall follow — strike in God’s 
name, that so all may be well with the dead that we love 
and that the Un-Dead pass away .” 

Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his 
mind was set on action his hands never trembled nor even 
quivered. Van Helsing opened his missal and began to 
read, and Quincey and I followed as well as we could. Ar- 
thur placed the point over the heart, and as I looked I could 
see its dint in the white flesh. Then he struck with all his 
might. 

The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood- 
curdling screech came from the opened red lips. The body 
shook and quivered and twisted in wild contortions; the 
sharp white teeth champed together till the lips were cut, 
and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Ar^ 
thur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his 
untrembling arm rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper 
the mercy-bearing stake, whilst the blood from the pierced 
heart welled and spurted up around it. His face was set, 
and high duty seemed to shine through it; the sight of it 
gave us courage, so that our voices seemed to ring through 
the little vault. 

And then the writhing and quivering of the body became 
less, and the teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. 
Finally it lay still. The terrible task was over. 

The hammer fell from Arthur’s hand. He reeled and 
would have fallen had we not caught him. The great drops 
of sweat sprang from his forehead, and his breath came in 
broken gasps. It had indeed been an awful strain on him ; 
and had he not been forced to his task by more than human 
considerations he could never have gone through with it. 
For a few minutes we were so taken up with him that we 
did not look towards the coffin. When we did, however, a 
murmur of startled surprise ran from one to the other of us. 
We gazed so eagerly that Arthur rose, for he had been seated 
on the ground, and came and looked too; and then a glad, 
strange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether 
the gloom of horror that lay upon it. 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 


217 

There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we 
had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her de- 
struction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled 
to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face 
of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that there were 
there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain 
and waste ; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her 
truth to what we knew. One and all we felt that the holy 
calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and form 
was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was 
to reign forever. 

Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur’s shoul- 
der, and said to him : — 

“And now, Arthur, my friend, dear lad, am I not for- 
given ?” 

The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old 
man’s hand in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and 
said : — 

“Forgiven ! God bless you that you have given my dear 
one her soul again, and me peace.” He put his hands on the 
Professor’s shoulder, and laying his head on his breast, cried 
for a while silently, whilst we stood unmoving. When he 
raised his head Van Helsing said to him : — 

“And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips 
if you will, as she would have you to, if for her to choose. 
For she is not a grinning devil now — not any more a foul 
Thing for all eternity. No longer she is the devil’s Un-Dead. 
She is God’s true dead, whose soul is with Him !” 

Arthur bent and kissed her, and then we sent him and 
Quincey out of the tomb ; the Professor and I sawed the 
top off the stake, leaving the point of it in the body. Then 
we cut off the head and filled the mouth with garlic. We 
soldered up the leaden coffin, screwed on the coffin-lid, and 
gathering up our belongings, came away. When the Pro- 
fessor locked the door he gave the key to Arthur. 

Outside the air was sweet, the sun shone, and the birds 
sang, and it seemed as if all nature were tuned to a differ- 
ent pitch. There was gladness and mirth and peace every- 
where, for we were at rest ourselves on one account, and we 
were glad, though it was with a tempered joy. 

Before we moved away Van Helsing said: — 

“Now, my friends, one step of our work is done, one the 
most harrowing to ourselves. But there remains a greater 


Dracula 


task: to find out the author of all this our sorrow and to 
stamp him out. I have clues which we can follow ; but it is a 
long task, and a difficult, and there is danger in it, and pain. 
Shall you not all help me? We have learned to believe, all 
of us — is it not so? And since so, do we not see our duty? 
Yes ! And do we not promise to go on to the better end ?” 

Each in turn, we took his hand, and the promise was 
made. Then said the Professor as we moved off: — 

“Two nights hence you shall meet with me and dine to- 
gether at seven of the clock with friend John. I shall en- 
treat two others, two that you know not as yet ; and I shall 
be ready to all our work show and our plans unfold. Friend 
John, you come with me home, for I have much to consult 
about, and you can help me. To-night I leave for Amster- 
dam, but shall return to-morrow night. And then begins 
our great quest. But first I shall have much to say, so that 
you may know what is to do and to dread. Then our prom- 
ise shall be made to each other anew ; for there is a terrible 
task before us, and once our feet are on the ploughshare, we 
tiust not draw back.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

DR. seward's diary — continued . 

When we arrived at the Berkeley Hotel, Van Helsing found 
a telegram waiting for him : — 

“Am coming up by train. Jonathan at Whitby. Import* 
ant news. — Mina Harker.” 

The Professor was delighted. “Ah, that wonderful 
Madam Mina,” he said, “pearl among women ! She arrive, 
but I cannot stay. She must go to your house, friend John. 
You must meet her at the station. Telegraph her en route , 
so that she may be prepared.” 

When the wire was despatched he had a cup of tea ; over 

it he told me of a diary kept by Jonathan Harker when 
abroad, and gave me a typewritten copy of it, as also of Mrs. 
Harker’s diary at Whitby. “Take these,” he said, “and study 
them well. When I have returned you will be master of all 
the facts, and we can then better enter on our inquisition. 
Keep them safe, for there is in them much of treasure. You 
will need all your faith, even you who have had such an ex- 
perience as that of to-day. What is here told,” he laid his 
hand heavily and gravely on the packet of papers as he 
spoke, “may be the beginning of the end to you and me and 
many another; or it may sound the knell of the Un-Dead 
who walk the earth. Read all, I pray you, with the open 
mind ; and if you can add in any way to the story here told 
do so, for it is all-important. You have kept diary of all 
these so strange things ; is it not so? Yes! Then we shall 
go through all these together when that we meet.” He then 
made ready for his departure, and shortly after drove off to 
Liverpool Street. I took my way to Paddington, where I 
arrived about fiftee. minutes before the train came in. 

The crowd melted away, after the bustling fashion com- 
mon o arrival platforms ; and I was beginning to feel un- 
easy, lest I might miss my guest, when a sweet-faced, dainty- 
looking girl stepped up to me, and, after a quick glance, said : 
“Dr. Seward, is it not?” 

“And you are Mrs. Harker I' I answered at once; where* 
upon she held out her hand. 


tie 


220 


Dracula 


“I knew you from the description of poor dear Lucy; 
but — ” She stopped suddenly, and a quick blush overspread 
her face. 

The blush that rose to my own cheeks somehow set us both 
at ease, for it was a tacit answer to her own. I got her lug- 
gage, which included a typewriter, and we took the Under- 
ground to Fenchurch Street, after I had sent a wire to my 
housekeeper to have a sitting-room and bedroom prepared at 
once for Mrs. Harker. 

In due time we arrived. She knew, of course, that the 
place was a lunatic asylum, but I could see that she was un- 
able to repress a shudder when we entered. 

She told me that, if she might, she would come presently to 
my study, as she had much to say. So here I am finishing 
my entry in my phonograph diary whilst I await her. As yet 
I have not had the chance of looking at the papers which Van 
Helsing left with me, though they lie open before me. I must 
get her interested in something, so that I may have an oppor- 
tunity of reading them. She does not know how precious 
time is, or what a task we have in hand. I must be careful 
not to frighten her. Here she is ! 

MINA HARKER’s JOURNAL. 

29 September . — After I had tidied myself, I went down 
to Dr. Seward’s study. At the door I paused a moment, for 
I thought I heard him talking with some one. As, how- 
ever, he had pressed me to be quick, I knocked at the door, 
and on his calling out, “Come in,” I entered. 

To my intense surprise, there was no one with him. He 
was quite alone, and on the table opposite him was what 1 
knew at once from the description to be a phonograph. I 
had never seen one, and was much interested. 

“I hope I did not keep you waiting,” I said; “but I 
stayed at the door as I heard you talking, and thought there 
was some one with you.” 

“Oh,” he replied with a smile, “I was only entering my 
diary.” 

“Your diary?” I asked him in surprise. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I keep it in this.” As he spoke he 
laid his hand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over 
it, and blurted out *. — 

“Why, this beats even shorthand 1 May I hear it say 
something?” 


221 


Dr* Seward’s Diary 

"Certainly he replied with alacrity, and stood up to put 
it in train for speaking. Then he paused, and a troubled 
look overspread his face. 

“The fact is,” he began awkwardly, “I only keep my 
diary in it ; and as it is entirely — almost entirely — about my 
cases, it may be awkward — that is, I mean” — He stopped, 
and I tried to help him out of his embarrassment: — 

“You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear 
how she died; for all that I know of her, I shall be very 
grateful. She was very, very dear to me.” 

To my surprise, he answered, with a horrorstruck look in 
his face : — 

“Tell you of her death? Not for the wide world !” 

“Why not?” I asked, for some grave, terrible feeling 
was coming over me. Again he paused, and I could see 
that he was trying to invent an excuse. At length he stam- 
mered out: — 

“You see, I do not know how to pick out any particular 
part of the diary.” Even while he was speaking an idea 
dawned upon him, and he said with unconscious simplicity, 
vn a different voice, and with the naivete of a child : “That’s 
quite true, upon my honour. Honest Indian !” I could not 
but smile, at which he grimaced, “I gave myself away that 
time!” he said. “But do you know that, although I have 
kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how 
I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted 
to look it up ?” By this time my mind was made up that the 
diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have something 
to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, 
and I said boldly : — 

“Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for 
you on my typewriter.” He grew to a positively deathly 
pallor as he said : — 

“No! no! no! For all the world, I wouldn’t let you 
know that terrible story !” 

Then it was terrible; my intuition was right! For a 
moment I thought, and as my eyes ranged the room, uncon- 
sciously looking for something or some opportunity to aid 
me, they lit on the great batch of typewriting on the table. 
His eyes caught the look in mine, and, without his thinking, 
followed their direction. As they saw the parcel he realised 
my meaning. 

“You do not know me” I said “When you have read 


222 


Dracula 


those papers — my own diary and my husband’s also, which 
I have typed — you will know me better. I have not faltered 
in giving every thought of my own heart in this cause ; but, 
of course, you do not know me — yet ; and I must not expect 
you to trust me so far.” 

He is certainly a man of noble nature; poor dear Lucy 
was right about him. He stood up and opened a large 
drawer, in which were arranged in order a number of hollow 
cylinders of metal covered with dark wax, and said : — 

“You are quite right. I did not trust you because I did 
not know you. But I know you now ; and let me say that I 
should have known you long ago. I know that Lucy told 
you of me ; she told me of you too. May I make the only 
atonement in my power? Take the cylinders and hear them 
— the first half-dozen of them are personal to me, and they 
will not horrify you ; then you will know me better. Din- 
ner will by then be ready. In the meantime I shall read over 
some of these documents, and shall be better able to under- 
stand certain things.” He carried the phonograph himself 
up to my sitting-room and adjusted it for me. Now I shall 
learn something pleasant, I am sure ; for it will tell me the 
other side of a true love episode of which I know one side 
already 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

29 September. — I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary 
of Jonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the 
time run on without thinking. Mrs. Harker was not down 
when the maid came to announce dinner, so I said : “She is 
possibly tired ; let dinner wait an hour ;” and I went on with 
my work. I had just finished Mrs. Harker’s diary, when 
she came in. She looked sweetly pretty, but very sad, and 
her eyes were flushed with crying. This somehow moved 
me much. Of late I have had cause for tears, God knows ! 
but the relief of them was denied me ; and now the sight of 
those sweet eyes, brightened with recent tears, went straight 
to my heart. So I said as gently as I could : — 

“I greatly fear I have distressed you.” 

“Oh no, not distressed me,” she replied, “but I have been 
more touched than I can say by your grief. That is a won- 
derful machine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its 
very tones, the anguish of your heart. It was like a soul 
crying out to almighty God. No one must hear them spoken 
ever again | See> I have tried to be useful, I have copied 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 223 

out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now 
hear your heart beat, as 1 did.” 

“No one need ever know, shall ever know.” I said in a low 
voice. She laid her hand on mine and said very gravely : — 

“Ah, but they must !” 

“Must! But why?” I asked. 

“Because it is a part of the terrible story, a part of poor 
dear Lucy’s death and all that led to it; because in the 
struggle which we have before us to rid the earth of this 
terrible monster we must have all the knowledge and all the 
help which we can get. I think that the cylinders which you 
gave me contained more than you intended me to know; 
but I can see that there are in your record many lights to 
this dark mystery. You will let me help, will you not? I 
know all up to a certain point; and I see already, though 
your diary only took me to 7 September, how poor Lucy was 
beset, and how her terrible doom was being wrought out. 
Jonathan and I have been working day and night since Pro- 
fessor Van Helsing saw us. He is gone to Whitby to get 
more information, and he will be here to-morrow to help us. 
We need have no secrets amongst us; working together 
and with absolute trust, we can surely be stronger than if 
some of us were in the dark.” She looked at me so appeal- 
ingly, and at the same time manifested such courage and 
resolution in her bearing, that I gave in at once to her 
wishes. “You shall,” I said, “do as you like in the matter. 
God forgive me if I do wrong! There are terrible things 
yet to learn of ; but if you have so far travelled on the road 
to poor Lucy’s death, you will not be content, I know, to 
remain in the dark. Nay, the end — the very end — may give 
you a gleam of peace. Come, there is dinner. We must 
keep one another strong for what is before us; we have a 
cruel and dreadful task. When you have eaten you shall 
learn the rest, and I shall answer any questions you ask — if 
there be anything which you do not understand, though it 
was apparent to us who were present.” 

MINA HARKER’S JOURNAL. 

29 September . — After dinner I came with Dr. Seward to 
his study. He brought back the phonograph from my 
room, and I took my typewriter. He placed me in a con- 
fortable chair, and arranged the phonograph so that I could 
touch it without getting up, and showed me how to stop it 


Dracula 


tz 4 

in case I should want to pause. Then he very thoughtfully 
took a chair, with his back to me, so that I might be as free 
as possible, and began to read. I put the forked metal to 
my ears and listened. 

When the terrible story of Lucy’s death, and — and all that 
followed, was done, I lay back in my chair powerless. For- 
tunately I am not of a fainting disposition. When Dr. 
Seward saw me he jumped up with a horrified exclamation, 
and hurriedly taking a case-bottle from a cupboard, gave me 
some brandy, which in a few minutes somewhat restored me. 
My brain was all in a whirl, and only that there came 
through all the multitude of horrors, the holy ray of light 
that my dear, dear Lucy was at last at peace, I do not think I 
could have borne it without making a scene. It is all so 
wild, and mysterious, and strange that if I had not known 
Jonathan’s experience in Transylvania I could not have be- 
lieved. As it was, I didn’t know what to believe, and so got 
out of my difficulty by attending to something else. I took 
the cover off my typewriter, and said to Dr. Seward : — 

“Let me write this all out now. We must be ready for Dr. 
Van Helsing when he comes. I have sent a telegram to 
Jonathan to come on here when he arrives in London from 
Whitby. In this matter dates are everything, and I think 
that if we get all our material ready, and have every item 
put in chronological order, we shall have done much. You 
tell me that Lord Godaiming and Mr. Morris are coming 
too. Let us be able to tell them when they come.” He ac- 
cordingly set the phonograph at a slow pace, and I began to 
typewrite from the beginning of the seventh cylinder. I 
used manifold, and so took three copies of the diary, just 
as I had done with all the rest. It was late when I got 
through, but Dr. Seward went about his work of going his 
round of the patients ; when he had finished he came back 
and sat near me, reading, so that I did not feel too lonely 
whilst I worked. How good and thoughtful he is; the 
world seems full of good men — even if there are monsters 
in it. Before I left him I remembered what Jonathan put 
in his diary of the Professor’s perturbation at reading some- 
thing in an evening paper at the station at Exeter ; so, see- 
ing that Dr. Seward keeps his newspapers, I borrowed the 
files of “The Westminster Gazette” and “The Pall Mall 
Gazette,” and took them to my room. I remember how 
much “The Dailygraph” and “The Whitby Gazette,” of 


Dr. Seward's Diary 22£ 

v/hich I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the ter- 
rible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I 
hall look through the evening papers since then, and per- 
haps I shall get some new light. I am not sleepy, and the 
vork will help to keep me quiet. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

30 September. — Mr. Harker arrived at nine o’clock. He 
had got his wife’s wire just before starting. He is uncom- 
monly clever, if one can judge from his face, and full of en- 
rgy. If his journal be true — and judging by one’s own 
wonderful experiences, it must be — he is also a man of great 
nerve. That going down to the vault a second time was a 
1 emarkable piece of daring. After reading his account of it 
I was prepared to meet a good specimen of manhood, but 
hardly the quiet, business-like gentleman who came here 
to-day. 

Later . — After lunch Harker and his wife went back to 
their own room, and as I passed a while ago I heard the click 
of the typewriter. They are hard at it. Mrs. Harker says 
that they are knitting together in chronological order every 
scrap of evidence they have. Harker has got the letters be- 
tween the consignee of the boxes at Whitby and the carriers 
in London who took charge of them. He is now reading 
his wife’s typescript of my diary. I wonder what they make 
out of it. Here it is 

Strange that it never struck me that the very next house 
might be the Count’s hiding-place! Goodness knows that 
we had enough clues from the conduct of the patient Ren- 
field ! The bundle of letters relating to the purchase of the 
house were with the typescript. Oh, if we had only had 
them earlier we might have saved poor Lucy! Stop; that 
way madness lies ! Harker has gone back, and is again 
collating his material. He says that by dinner-time they 
will be able to show a whole connected narrative. He thinks 
that in the meantime I should see Renfield, as hitherto he 
has been a sort of index to the coming and going of the 
Count. I hardly see this yet, but when I get at the dates I 
suppose I shall. What a good thing that Mrs. Harker put 
my cylinders into type! We never could have found the 
dates otherwise 

(iS) 


226 


Dracula 


I found Renfield sitting placidly in his room with his 
hands folded, smiling benignly. At the moment he seemed 
as sane as any one I ever saw. I sat down and talked with 
him on a lot of subjects, all of which he treated naturally. 
He then, of his own accord, spoke of going home, a subject 
he has never mentioned to my knowledge during his sojourn 
here. In fact, he spoke quite confidently of getting his dis- 
charge at once. I believe that, had I not had the chat with 
Harker and read the letters and the dates of his outbursts, I 
should have been prepared to sign for him after a brief time 
of observation. As it is, I am darkly suspicious. All those 
outbreaks were in some way linked with the proximity of the 
Count. What then does this absolute content mean? Can 
it be that his instinct is satisfied as to the vampire’s ultimate 
triumph ? Stay ; he is himself zoophagous, and in his wild 
ravings outside the chapel door of the deserted house he 
always spoke of “master.” This all seems confirmation of 
our idea. However, after a while I came away ; my friend 
is just a little too sane at present to make it safe to probe 
him too deep with questions. He might begin to think, and 
then — ! So I came away. I mistrust these quiet moods of 
his ; so I have given the attendant a hint to look closely after 
him, and to have a strait-waistcoat ready in case of need. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. 

29 September , in train to London . — When I received 
Mr. Billington’s courteous message that he would give me 
any information in his power I thought it best to go down to 
Whitby and make, on the spot, such inquiries as I wanted. 
It was now my object to trace that horrid cargo of the 
Count’s to its place in London. Later, we may be able to 
deal with it. Billington junior, a nice lad, met me at the 
station, and brought me to his father’s house, where they 
had decided that Tmust stay the night. They are hospitable, 
with true Yorkshire hospitality: give a guest everything, 
and leave him free to do as he likes. They all knew that I 
was busy, and that my stay was short, and Mr. Billington 
had ready in his office all the papers concerning the consign- 
ment of boxes. It gave me almost a turn to see again one 
of the letters which I had seen on the Count's table before I 
knew of his diabolical plans. Everything had been carefully 
thought out, and done systematically and with precision. He 
seemed to have been prepared for every obstacle which 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 227 

might be placed by accident in the way of his intentions 
being carried out. To use an Americanism, he had “taken 
no chances,” and the absolute accuracy with which his in- 
structions were fulfilled, was simply the logical result of hia 
care. I saw the invoice, and took note of it: “Fifty cases 
of common earth, to be used for experimental purposes.” 
Also the copy of letter to Carter Paterson, and their reply; 
of both of these I got copies. This was all the information 
Mr. Billington could give me, so I went down to the port 
and saw the coastguards, the Customs officers and the har- 
bour-master. They had all something to say of the strange 
entry of the ship, which is already taking its place in local 
tradition; but no one could add to the simple description 
“Fifty cases of common earth.” I then saw the station-mas- 
ter, who kindly put me in communication with the men who 
had actually received the boxes. Their tally was exact with 
the list, and they had nothing to add except that the boxes 
were “main and mortal heavy,” and that shifting them was 
dry work. One of them added that it was hard lines that 
there wasn’t any gentleman “such-like as yourself, squire,” 
to show some sort of appreciation of their efforts in a 
liquid form; another put in a rider that the thirst then 
generated was such that even the time which had elapsed 
had not completely allayed it. Needless to add, I took care 
before leaving to lift, for ever and adequately, this source of 
reproach. 

30 September . — The station-master was good enough to 
give me a line to his old companion the station-master at 
King’s Cross, so that when I arrived there in the morning 1 
was able to ask him about the arrival of the boxes. He, too, 
put me at once in communication with the proper officials, 
and I saw that their tally was correct with the original in- 
voice. The opportunities of acquiring an abnormal thirst 
had been here limited; a noble use of them had, however, 
been made, and again I was compelled to deal with the result 
in an ex post facto manner. 

From thence I went on to Carter Paterson’s central office, 
where I met with the utmost courtesy. They looked up 
the transaction in their day-book and letter-book, and at 
once telephoned to their King’s Cross office for more details. 
By good fortune, the men who did the teaming were waiting 
for work, and the official at once sent them over, sending 


228 


Dracula 


also by one of them the way-bill and all the papers connected 
with the delivery of the boxes at Carfax. Here again I 
found the tally agreeing exactly ; the carriers’ men were able 
to supplement the paucity of the written words with a few 
details. These were, I shortly found, connected almost 
solely with the dusty nature of the job, and of the consequent 
thirst engendered in the operators. On my affording an 
opportunity, through the medium of the currency of the 
realm, of the allaying, at a later period, this beneficial evil, 
one of the men remarked : — 

“That ’ere ’ouse, guv’nor, is the rummiest I aver was in. 
Blyme! but it ain’t been touched sence a hundred years. 
There was dust that thick in the place that you might have 
slep’ on it without ’urtin’ of yer bones; an’ the place was 
that neglected that yer might ’ave smelled ole Jerusalem in 
it. But the ole chapel — that took the cike, that did! Me 
and my mate, we thort we wouldn’t never git out quick 
enough. Lor’, I wouldn’t take less nor a quid a moment to 
stay there arter dark.” 

Having been in the house, I could well believe him ; but if 
he knew what I know, he would, I think, have raised his 
terms. 

Of one thing I am now satisfied : that all the boxes which 
arrived at Whitby from Varna in the Demeter were safely 
deposited in the old chapel of Carfax. There should be fifty 
of them there, unless any have since been removed — as from 
Dr. Seward’s diary I fear. 

I shall try to see the carter who took away the boxes from 
Carfax when Renfield attacked them. By following up this 
clue we may learn a good deal. 

Later . — Mina and I have worked all day, and we have put 
all the papers into order. 

Mina Marker’s Journal. 

30 September . — I am so glad that I hardly know how to 
contain myself. It is, I suppose, the reaction from the haunt- 
ing fear which I have had : that this terrible affair and the 
reopening of his old wound might act detrimentally on 
Jonathan. I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face 
as I could, but I was sick with apprehension. The effort 
has, however, done him good. He was never so resolute, 
never so strong, never so full of volcanic energy, as at pres- 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 229 

ent. It is just as that dear, good Professor Van Helsing 
said: he is true grit, and he improves under strain that 
would kill a weaker nature. He came back full of life and 
hope and determination; we have got everything in order 
for to-night. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I 
suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the 
Count. That is just it : this Thing is not human — not even 
beast. To read Dr. Seward’s account of poor Lucy’s death, 
and what followed, is enough to dry up the springs of pity in 
one’s heart. 

Later . — Lord Godaiming and Mr. Morris arrived earlier 
than we expected. Dr. Seward was out on business, and 
had taken Jonathan with him, so I had to see them. It was 
to me a painful meeting, for it brought back all poor dear 
Lucy’s hopes of only a few months ago. Of course they 
had heard Lucy speak of me, and it seemed that Dr. Van 
Helsing, too, has been quite “blowing my trumpet,” as Mr. 
Morris expressed it. Poor fellows, neither of them is aware 
that I know all about the proposals they made to Lucy. 
They did not quite know what to say or do, as they were 
ignorant of the amount of my knowledge ; so they had to 
keep on neutral subjects. However, I thought the matter 
over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could 
do would be to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew 
from Dr. Seward’s diary that they had been at Lucy’s death 
— her real death — and that I need not fear to betray any 
secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I could, 
that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my hus- 
band and I, having typewritten them, had just finished put- 
ting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the 
library. When Lord Godaiming got his and turned it over 
— it does make a pretty good pile — he said : — 

“Did you write all this, Mrs. Harker?” 

I nodded, and he went on : — 

“I don’t quite see the drift of it ; but you people are all so 
good and kind, and have been working so earnestly and so 
energetically, that all I can do is to accept your ideas blind- 
fold and try to help you. I have had one lesson already in 
accepting facts that should make a man humble to the last 
hour of his life. Besides, I know you loved my poor Lucy 
— ” Here he turned away and covered his face with his 
hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, 
with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on 


Dracula 


230 

his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room. I 
suppose there is something in woman’s nature that makes 
a man free to break down before her and express his feelings 
on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory 
to his manhood; for when Lord Godaiming found himself 
alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly 
and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I 
hope he didn’t think it forward of me, and that if he ever 
thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a thought. 
There I wrong him ; I know he never will — he is too true a 
gentleman. I said to him, for I could see that his heart was 
breaking : — 

‘I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and 
what you were to her. She and I were like sisters ; and now 
she is gone, will you not let me be like a sister to you in your 
trouble? I know what sorrows you have had, though I 
cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity 
can help in your affliction, won’t you let me be of some little 
service — for Lucy’s sake ?” 

In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with 
grief. It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suf- 
fering in silence found a vent at once. He grew quite hys- 
terical, and raising his open hands, beat his palms together 
in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down 
again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an in- 
finite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With 
a sob he laid his head on my shoulder, and cried like a wear- 
ied child, whilst he shook with emotion. 

We women have something of the mother in us that 
makes us rise above smaller matters when the mother-spirit 
is invoked ; I felt this big, sorrowing man’s head resting on 
me, as though it were that of the baby that some day may 
lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he were 
my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it 
all was. 

After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself 
with an apology, though he made no disguise of his emo- 
tion. He told me that for days and nights past — weary 
days and sleepless nights — he had been unable to speak with 
any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow. There 
was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or 
with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which 
his sorrow was surrounded, he could speak freely. “I know 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 231 

now how I suffered/’ he said, as he dried his eyes, “but I do 
not know even yet — and none other can ever know — how 
much your sweet sympathy has been to me to-day. I shall 
know better in time ; and believe me that, though I am not 
ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my under- 
standing. You will let me be like a brother, will you not, 
for all our lives — for dear Lucy’s sake?” 

“For dear Lucy’s sake,” I said as we clasped hands. “Ay, 
and for your own sake,” he added, “for if a man’s esteem 
and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won 
mine to-day. If ever the future should bring to you a time 
when you need a man’s help, believe me, you will not call 
in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you 
to break the sunshine of your life; but if it should ever 
come, promise me that you will let me know.” He was so 
earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would 
comfort him, so I said ; — 

“I promise.” 

As I came along the corridor I saw Mr. Morris looking 
out of a window. He turned as he heard my footsteps. 
“How is Art?” he said. Then noticing my red eyes, he 
went on : “Ah, I see you have been comforting him. Poor 
old fellow ! he needs it. No one but a woman can help a 
man when he is in trouble of the heart ; and he had no one to 
comfort him.” 

He bore his own trouble so bravely that my heart bled for 
him. I saw the manuscript in his hand, and I knew that 
when he read it he would realise how much I knew; so I 
said to him : — 

“I wish I could comfort all who suffer from the heart. 
Will you let me be your friend, and will you come to me for 
comfort if you need it? You will know, later on, why I 
speak.” He saw that I was in earnest, and stooping, took 
my hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it. It seemed but 
poor comfort to so brave and unselfish a soul, and impul- 
sively I bent over and kissed him. The tears rose in his 
eyes, and there was a momentary choking in his throat ; he 
said quite calmly : — 

“Little girl, you will never regret that true-hearted 
kindness, so long as ever you live !” Then he went into the 
study to his friend. 

“Little girl !” — the very words he had used to Lucy, and 
oh, but he proved himself a friend ! 


CHAPTER XVIII 
dr. seward's diary. 

30 September . — I got home at five o’clock, and found 
that Godaiming and Morris had not only arrived, but had 
already studied the transcript of the various diaries and let- 
ters which Harker and his wonderful wife had made and 
arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to 
the carriers’ men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to 
me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly 
say that, for the first time since I have lived in it, this old 
house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs. 
Harker said : — 

“Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your 
patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have 
said of him in your diary interests me so much !” She looked 
so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and 
there was no possible reason why I should; so I took her 
with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a 
lady would like to see him ; to which he simply answered : 
“Why?” 

“She is going through the house, and wants to see every 
one in it,” I answered. “Oh, very well,” he said; “let her 
come in, by all means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up 
the place.” His method of tidying was peculiar : he simply 
swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I 
could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was 
jealous of, some interference. When he had got through 
his disgusting task, he said cheerfully : “Let the lady come 
in,” and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head 
down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as 
she entered. For a moment I thought that he might have 
some homicidal intent ; I remembered how quiet he had been 
just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care 
to stand where I could seize him at once if he attempted to 
make a spring at her. She came into the room with an easy 
gracefulness which would at once command the respect of 
any lunatic — for easiness is one of the qualities mad people 

232 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 233 

most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, 
and held out her hand. 

“Good-evening, Mr. Renfield,” said she. “You see, I 
know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you.” He made 
no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set 
frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, 
which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, 
he said : — 

“You’re not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? 
You can’t be, you know, for she’s dead.” Mrs. Harker 
smiled sweetly as she replied : — 

“Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was 
married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am 
Mrs. Harker.” 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

“My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. 
Seward.” 

“Then don’t stay.” 

“But why not ?” I thought that this style of conversation 
might not be pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was 
to me, so I joined in : — 

“How did you know I wanted to marry any one?” His 
reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which 
he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turn- 
ing them back again : — 

“What an asinine question !” 

“I don’t see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” said Mrs. Harker, 
at once championing me. He replied to her with as much 
courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to me : — 

“You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when 
a man is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything 
regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. 
Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, 
but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in 
mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. 
Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I 
cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its 
inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio 
elenchi I positively opened my eyes at this new develop- 
ment. Here was my own pet lunatic — the most pronounced 
of his type that I had ever met with — talking elemental phi- 
losophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I 
wonder if it was Mrs. Harker’s presence which had touched 


Dracula 


^34 

some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spon- 
taneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she 
must have some rare gift or power. 

We continued to talk for some time ; and, seeing that he 
was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at 
me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite 
topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to 
the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity; 
he even took himself as an example when he mentioned cer- 
tain things. 

“Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a 
strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends 
were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. 
I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, 
and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter 
how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely pro- 
long life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actu- 
ally tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me 
out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose 
of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with 
my own body of his life through the medium of his blood — 
relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase. ‘For the blood 
is the life.’ Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum 
has vulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. 
Isn’t that true, doctor?” I nodded assent, for I was so 
amazed that x hardly knew what to either think or say ; it 
was hard to im. le that I had seen him eat up his spiders 
and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I 
saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I 
told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave. She came at 
once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: “Good-bye, 
and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter 
to yourself,” to which, to my astonishment, he replied : — 

“Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your 
sweet face again. May He bless and keep you !” 

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the 
boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he 
has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like 
his own bright self than he has been for many a long day. 

Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager 
nimbleness of a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to 
me, saying:— 

“Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 233 

been busy, for I come here to stay if need be. All affairs 
are settled with me, and I have much to tell. Madam Mina 
is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Ar- 
thur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? 
Good !” 

As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, 
and of how my own diary had come to be of some use 
through Mrs. Harker’s suggestion ; at which the Professor 
interrupted me: — 

“Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina ! She has man’s brain 
— a brain that a man should have were he much gifted — 
and woman’s heart. The good God fashioned her for a 
purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combina- 
tion. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman 
of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with 
this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so 
great. We men are determined — nay, are we not pledged? 
— to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman. 
Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so 
much and so many horrors ; and hereafter she may suffer — 
both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her 
dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so long 
married ; there may be other things to think of some time, 
if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must 
consult with us ; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this 
work, and we go alone.” I agreed heartily vVith him, and 
then I told him what we had found in hi si' .^ence: that the 
house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to 
my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to 
come on him. “Oh that we had known it before !” he said, 
“for then we might have reached him in time to save poor 
Lucy. However, ‘the milk that is spilt cries not out after- 
wards,’ as you say. We shall not think of that, but go on 
our way to the end.” Then he fell into a silence that lasted 
till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to pre- 
pare for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker : — 

“I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you 
and your husband have put up in exact order all things that 
have been, up to this moment.” 

“Not up to this moment, Professor,” she said impulsively, 
“but up to this morning.” 

“But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how 


Dracula 


236 

good light all the little things have made. We have told our 
secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for it.” 

Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her 
pockets, she said: — 

“Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must 
go in. It is my record of to-day. I too have seen the need 
of putting down at present everything, however trivial ; but 
there is little in this except what is personal. Must it go 
in?” The Professor read it over gravely, and handed it 
back, saying: — 

“It need not go in if you do not wish it ; but I pray that it 
may. It can but make your husband love you the more, and 
all us, your friends, more honour you — as well as more es- 
teem and love.” She took it back with another blush and a 
bright smile. 

And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have 
are complete and in order. The Professor took away one 
copy to study after dinner, and before our meeting, which is 
fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of us have already read 
everything ; so when we meet in the study we shall all be in- 
formed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with 
this terrible and mysterious enemy. 

Mina Harkens Journal. 

30 September . — When we met in Dr. Seward’s study two 
hours after dinner, which had been at six o’clock, we uncon- 
sciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor 
Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Sew- 
ard motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit 
next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary ; 
Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godai- 
ming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris — Lord Godaiming being 
next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre. The Pro- 
fessor said : — 

: “I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with 
'the facts that are in these papers.” We all expressed assent, 
and he went on : — 

i “Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of 
the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then 
make known to you something of the history of this man, 
which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss 
how we shall act, and can take our measure according. 

' “There are such beings as vampires ; some of us have evb 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 237 

dence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our 
own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of 
the past give proof enough for sane peoples. I admit that at 
the first I was sceptic. Were it not that through long years 
I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could not have 
believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. ‘See ! 
see! I prove; I prove/ Alas! Had I known at the first 
what now I know — nay, had I even guess at him — one so 
precious life had been spared to many of us who did love 
her. But that is gone ; and we must so work, that other poor 
souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not 
die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; 
and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This 
vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in per- 
son as twenty men ; he is of cunning more than mortal, for 
his cunning be the growth of ages ; he have still the aids of 
necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination 
by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are 
for him at command ; he is brute, and more than brute ; he is 
devil in callous, and the heart of him is not ; he can, within 
limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of 
the foims that are to him; he can, within his range, direct 
the elements ; the storm, the fog, the thunder ; he can com- 
mand all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the 
bat — the moth, and the fox, and the wolf ; he can grow and 
become small; and he can at times vanish and come un- 
known. How then are we to begin our strife to destroy 
him? How shall we find his where; and having found it, 
how can we destroy ? My friends, this is much ; it is a ter- 
rible task that we undertake, and there may be consequence 
to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our fight 
he must surely win; and then where end we? Life is noth- 
ings ; I heed him not. But to fail here, is not mere life or 
death. It is that we become as him ; that we henceforward 
become foul things of the night like him — without heart or 
conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we 
love best. To us for ever are the gates of heaven shut ; for 
who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time 
abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God’s sunshine; an 
arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are 
face to face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? 
For me, I say, no ; but then I am old, and life, with his sun- 
shine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music, and his 


Dracula 


238 

love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen 
sorrow ; but there are fair days yet in store. What say 
you ?” 

Whilst he was speaking Jonathan had taken my hand. I 
feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger 
was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out ; but 
it was life to me to feel its touch — so strong, so self-reliant, 
so resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak for itself; it 
does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music. 

When the Professor had done speaking my husband 
looked in my eyes, and I in his ; there was no need for speak- 
ing between us. 

“I answer for Mina and myself,” he said. 

“Count me in, Professor,” said Mr. Quincey Morris, la- 
conically as usual. 

“I am with you,” said Lord Godaiming, “for Lucy’s sake, 
if for no other reason.” 

Dr. Seward simplv nodded. The Professor stood up and, 
after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his 
hand on either side. L took his right hand, and Lord Godai- 
ming his left ; Jpnathan held my right with his left and 
stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our 
solemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it 
did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our 
places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheer- 
fulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It 
was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as 
any other transaction of life : — 

“Well, you know what we have to contend against ; but 
we, too, are not without strength. We have on our side 
power of combination — a power denied to the vampire kind ; 
we have sources of science; we are free to act and think; 
and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally. In 
fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and 
we are free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, 
and an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These 
things are much. 

“Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed 
against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In 
fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in gen- 
eral, and of this one in particular. 

* “All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. 
These do not at the first appear much, when the matter is 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 239 

one of life and death — nay of more than either life or death. 
Yet must we be satisfied; in the first place because we have 
to be — no other means is at our control — and secondly, be- 
cause, after all, these things — tradition and superstition — - 
are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for 
others — though not, alas! for us — on them? A year ago 
which of us would have received such a possibility, in the 
midst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth 
century? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified 
under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and 
the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the moment 
on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known every- 
where that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome ; he 
flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in 
the Chersonese ; and in China, so far from us in all ways, 
there even is he, and the peoples fear him at this day. He 
have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the devil- 
begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. So far, 
then, we have all we may act upon ; and let me tell you that 
very much of the beliefs are justified by what we have seen 
in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, 
and cannot die by mere passing of the time ; he can flourish 
when that he can fatten on the blood of the living. Even 
more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow 
younger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem 
as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum 
is plenty. But he cannot flourish without this diet; he eat 
not as others. Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him 
for weeks, did never see him to eat, never ! He throws no 
shadow ; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again T ~** 
observe. He has the strength of many of his ha- 
again Jonathan when he shut the door agains f 
when he help him from the diligence too. F 
himself to wolf, as we gather from th 
Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he 
Madam Mina saw him on the window 
friend John saw him fly from this so ne 
friend Quincey saw him at the window 
can come in mist which be create — that 
proved him of this ; but, from what we 1 
can make this mist is limited, and it cat 
self. He come on moonlight rays a 
again Jonathan saw those sisters in t 


Dracula 


'240 

He become so small — we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she 
was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb 
door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from 
anything or into anything, no matter how close it be bound 
or even fused up with fire — solder you call it. He can see 
in the dark — no small power this, in a world which is one 
half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me through. He can 
do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay ; he is even more 
prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in 
his cell. He cannot go where he lists ; he who is not of na- 
ture has yet to obey some of nature’s laws — why we 
know not. He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless 
there be some one of the household who bid him to come; 
though afterwards he can come as he please. His power 
ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the 
day. Only at certain times can he have limited freedom. 
If he be not at the place whither he is bound, he can only 
change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These 
things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof 
by inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within 
his limit, when he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his 
hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he 
went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby; still at other 
time he can only change when the time come. It is said, too, 
that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood 
of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that 
he has no power, as the garlic that we know of ; and as for 
things sacred, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst 
us even now when we resolve, to them he is nothing, but in 
■*'*v>sence he take his place far off and silent with re- 
are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest 
r e may need them. The branch of wild rose 
n him that he move not from it; a sacred 
e coffin kill him so that he be true dead ; 
:e through him, we know already of its 
? head that giveth rest. We have seen 

id the habitation of this man-that-was, 
d his coffin and destroy him, if we obey 
he is clever. I have asked my friend 
’esth University, to make his record ; 
as that are, he tell me of what he has 
:ed, have been that Voivode Dracula 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 241 

who won his name against the Turk, over the greai river on 
the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he 
no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, 
he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as 
well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond the for- 
est/ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with 
him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. The 
Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, 
though now and again were scions who were held by their 
coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They 
learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the moun- 
tains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the 
tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as 
‘stregoica’ — witch, ‘ordog/ and ‘pokol’ — Satan and hell ; and 
in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as ‘wam- 
pyr/ which we all understand too well. There have been 
from the loins of this very one great men and good women, 
and their graves make sacred the eafth where alone this 
foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that 
this evil thing is rooted deep in all good; in soil barren of 
holy memories it cannot rest.” 

Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily 
at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of 
the room. There was a little pause, and then the Professot 
went on : — 

“And now we must settle what we do. We have here 
much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. 
We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle 
to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were de- 
livered at Carfax ; we also know that at least some of these 
boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first 
step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the 
house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether 
any more have been removed. If the latter, we must 
trace ” 

Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Out- 
side the house came the sound of a pistol-shot ; the glass oj 
the window was shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting 
from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of thn< 
room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked 
out. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godaiming 
flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As hts did 
so we heard Mr. Morris's voice without v- 


Dracula 


*42 

‘‘Sorry ! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and 
tell you about it.” A minute later he came in and said : — 

“It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your par- 
don, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely ; I fear I must have fright- 
ened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor 
was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. 
I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent 
events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a 
shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings whenever I 
have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.” 

“Did you hit it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing. 

“I don’t know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the 
wood.” Without saying any more he took his seat, and the 
Professor began to resume his statement: — 

“We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are 
ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair ; 
or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so that no more 
he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in 
his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and 
so engage with him when he is at his most weak. 

“And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end 
until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. 
When we part to-night, you no more must question. We 
shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to 
bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall 
act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as 
we are.” 

All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did 
not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, per- 
haps, lessen their safety — strength being the best safety — 
through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, 
though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say 
nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me. 

Mr. Morris resumed the discussion : — 

“As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his 
house right now. Time is everything with him ; and swift 
action on our part may save another victim.” 

I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for 
action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a 
greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to 
their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels 
altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means 
to get into the house. 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 343 

Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep ; as if a 
woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I 
shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added 
anxiety about me when he returns. 

Dr. Seward's Diary 

I October , 4 a.m . — Just as we were about to leave the 
house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield 
to know if I would see him at once, as he had something of 
the utmost importance to say to me. I told the messenger to 
say that I would attend to his wishes in the morning ; I was 
busy just at the moment. The attendant added : — 

“He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him 
so eager. I don’t know but what, if you don’t see him soon, 
he will have one of his violent fits.” I knew the man would 
not have said this without some cause, so I said : “All right ; 
I’ll go now ;” and I asked the others to wait a few minutes 
for me, as I had to go and see my “patient.” 

“Take me with you, friend John,” said the Professor. 
“His case in your diary interest me much, and it had bear- 
ing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to 
see him, and especial when his mind is disturbed.” 

“May I come also?” asked Lord Godaiming. 

“Me too?” said Quincey Morris. “May I come?” said 
Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage to- 
gether. 

We found him in a state of considerable excitement, but 
far more rational in his speech and manner than I had ever 
seen him. There was an unusual understanding of himself, 
which was unlike anything I had ever met with in a lunatic ; 
and he took it for granted that his reasons would prevail 
with others entirely sane. We all four went into the room, 
but none of the others at first said anything. His request 
was that I would at once release him from the asylum and 
send him home. This he backed up with arguments regard- 
ing his complete recovery, and adduced his own existing 
sanity. “I appeal to your friends,” he said , “they will, per^ 
haps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, 
you have not introduced me.” I was so much astonished, 
that the oddness of introducing a madman in an asylum did 
not strike me at the moment; and, besides, there was a cer- 
tain dignity in the man’s manner, so much of the habit of 


Dracula 


244 

equality, that I at once made the introduction : “Lord Godai- 
ming; Professor Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of 
Texas ; Mr. Renfield.” He shook hands with each of them, 
saying in turn : — 

“Lord Godaiming, I had the honour of seconding your 
father at the Windham ; I grieve to know, by your holding 
the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and hon- 
oured by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have 
heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronised 
on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your 
great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent 
which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the 
Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and 
Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine 
of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true 
place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his 
pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology 
for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an in- 
dividual has revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of 
the continuous evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms 
are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to one of a 
class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by 
the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your re- 
spective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I 
am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full 
possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. 
Seward, humanitarian and medico- jurist as well as scientist, 
will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be consid- 
ered as under exceptional circumstances.” He made this 
last appeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not 
without its own charm. 

I think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was 
under the conviction, despite my knowledge of the man’s 
character and history, that his reason had been restored ; and 
I felt under a strong impulse to tell him that I was satisfied 
as to his sanity, and would see about the necessary formali- 
ties for his release in the morning. I thought it better to 
wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of 
old I knew the sudden changes to which this particular pa- 
tient was liable. So I contented myself with making a gen- 
eral statement that he appeared to be improving very rap- 
idly ; that I would have a longer chat with him in the morn- 
ing, and would then see what I could do in the direction of 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 245 

! 

meeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he 
said quickly : — 

“But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my 
wish. I desire to go at once — here — now — this very hour— ^ 
this very moment, if I may. Time presses, and in our im- 
plied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the essence 
of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put before 
so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so 
momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment. ,, He looked at 
me keenly, and seeing the negative in my face, turned to the 
others, and scrutinised them closely. Not meeting any suf- 
ficient response, he went on : — 

“Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?” 

“You have,” I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, 
brutally. There was a considerable pause,, and then he said 
slowly : — 

“Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. 
Let me ask for this concession — boon, privilege, what you 
will. I am content to implore in such a case, not on personal 
grounds, but for the sake of others. I am not at liberty to 
give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I assure 
you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and un- 
selfish, and springing from the highest sense of duty. Could 
you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full 
the sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you would 
count me amongst the best and truest of your friends.” 
Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing convic- 
tion that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method 
was but yet another form or phase of his madness, and so 
determined to let him go on a little longer, knowing from 
experience that he would, like all lunatics, give himself away 
in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of 
the utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting 
with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Ren- 
field in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but 
only when I thought of it afterwards — for it was as of one 
addressing an equal : — 

“Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to 
be free to-night? I will undertake that if you will satisfy 
even me — a stranger, without prejudice, and with the habit 
of keeping an open mind — Dr. Seward will give you, at his 
own risk and on his own responsibility, the privilege you 


Dracula 


246 

seek.” He shook his head sadly, and with a look of poig 
nant regret on his face. The Professor went on : — 

“Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of 
reason in the highest degree, since you seek to impress us 
with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose 
sanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet re- 
leased from medical treatment for this very defect. If you 
will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, 
how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon 
us ? Be wise, and help us ; and if we can we shall aid you 
to achieve your wish.” He still shook his head as he said : — 
“Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument 
is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate 
a moment; but I am not my own master in the matter. I 
can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsi- 
bility does not rest with me.” I thought it was now time to 
end the scene, which was becoming too comically grave, so 
I went towards the door, simply saying : — 

“Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good-night.” 
As, however, I got near the door, a new change came over 
the patient. He moved towards me so quickly that for the 
moment I feared that he was about to make another homi- 
cidal attack. My fears, however, were groundless, for he 
held up his two hands imploringly, and made his petition in a 
moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of his emo- 
tion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our 
old relations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced 
at Van Helsing, and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes ; 
so I became a little more fixed in my manner, if not more 
stern, and motioned to him that his efforts were unavailing. 
I had previously seen something of the same constantly 
growing excitement in him when he had to make some re- 
quest of which at the time he had thought much, such, for 
instance, as when he wanted a cat ; and I was prepared to 
see the collapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this oc- 
casion. My expectation was not realised, for, when he 
found that his appeal would not be successful, he got into 
quite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his knees, 
and held up his hands, wringing them in plaintive supplica- 
tion, and poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with the tears 
rolling down his cheeks and his whole face and form ex- 
pressive of the deepest emotion : — 

“Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you* 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 247 

to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you 
will and where you will ; send keepers with me with whips 
and chains ; let them take me in a strait-waistcoat, manacled 
and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. 
You don’t know what you do by keeping me here. I am 
speaking from the depths of my heart — of my very soul. You 
don’t know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. 
Woe is me ! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred — by all 
you hold dear — by your love that is lost — by your hope that 
lives — for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and 
save my soul from guilt ! Can’t you hear me, man ? Can’t 
you understand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know 
that I am sane and earnest now ; that I am no lunatic in a 
mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul ? Oh, hear me ! 
hear me ! Let me go ! let me go ! let me go !” 

I thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would 
get, and so would bring on a fit ; so I took him by the hand 
and raised him up. 

“Come,” I said sternly, “no more of this; we have had 
quite enough already. Get to your bed and try to behave 
more discreetly.” 

He suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several 
moments. Then, without a word, he rose and moving over, 
sat down on the side of the bed. The collapse had come, as 
on former occasion, just as I had expected. 

When I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to 
me in a quiet, well-bred voice : — 

“You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear 
in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you 
to-night.” 


CHAPTER XIX 

JONATHAN HARKER’S JOURNAL 

I October , 5 a.m . — I went with the party to the search 
with an easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so abso- 
lutely strong and well. I am so glad that she consented to 
hold back and let us men do the work. Somehow, it was a 
dread to me that she was in this fearful business at all ; but 
now that her work is done, and that it is due to her energy 
and brains and foresight that the whole story is put together 
in such a way that every point tells, she may well feel that 
her part is finished, and that she can henceforth leave the 
rest to us. We were, I think, all a little upset by the scene 
with Mr. Renfield. When we came away from his room we 
were silent till we got back to the study. Then Mr. Morris 
said to Dr. Seward : — 

“Say, Jack, if that man wasn’t attempting a bluff, he is 
about the sanest lunatic I ever saw. I’m not sure, but I be- 
lieve that he had some serious purpose, and if he had, it was 
pretty rough on him not to get a chance.” Lord Godaiming 
and I were silent, but Dr. Van Helsing added: — 

“Friend John, you know more of lunatics than I do, and 
I’m glad of it, for I fear that if it had been to me to decide I 
would before that last hysterical outburst have given him 
free. But we live and learn, and in our present task we 
must take no chance, as my friend Quincey would say. All 
is best as they are.” Dr. Seward seemed to answer them 
both in a dreamy kind of way : — 

“I don’t know but that I agree with you. If that man had 
been an ordinary lunatic I would have taken my chance of 
trusting him ; but he seems so mixed up with the Count in 
an indexy kind of way that I am afraid of doing anything 
wrong by helping his fads. I can’t forget how he prayed 
with almost equal fervour for a cat, and then tried to tear 
my throat out with his teeth. Besides, he called the Count 
‘lord and master/ and he may want to get out to help him in 
some diabolical way. That horrid thing has the wolves and 
the rats and his own kind to help him, so I suppose he isn’t 

248 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 249 

above trying to use a respectable lunatic. He certainly did 
seem earnest, though. I only hope we have done what is 
best. These things, in conjunction with the wild work we 
have in hand, help to unnerve a man.” The Professor 
stepped over, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said in 
his grave, kindly way : — 

‘‘Friend John, have no fear. We are trying to do our duty 
in a very sad and terrible case ; we can only do as we deem 
best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the 
good God?” Lord Godaiming had slipped away for a few 
minutes, but he now returned. He held up a little silver 
whistle as he remarked : — 

“That old place may be full of rats, and if so, Tve got an 
antidote on call.” Having passed the wall, we took our way 
to the house, taking care to keep in the shadows of the trees 
on the lawn when the moonlight shone out. When we got to 
the porch the Professor opened his bag and took out a lot of 
things, which he laid on the step, sorting them into four lit- 
tle groups, evidently one for each. Then he spoke : — 

“My friends, we are going into a terrible danger, and we 
need arms of many kinds. Our enemy is not merely spir- 
itual. Remember that he has the strength of twenty men, 
and that, though our necks or our windpipes are of the com- 
mon kind — and therefore breakable or crushable — his are 
not amenable to mere strength. A stronger man, or a body 
of men more strong in all than him, can at certain times 
hold him; but yet they cannot hurt him as we can be hurt 
by him. We must, therefore, guard ourselves from his 
touch. Keep this near your heart” — as he spoke he lifted a 
little silver crucifix and held it out to me, I being nearest to 
him — “put these flowers round your neck” — here he handed 
to me a wreath of withered garlic blossoms — “for other ene- 
mies more mundane, this revolver and this knife; and for 
aid in all, these so small electric lamps, which you can fasten 
to your breast; and for all, and above all at the last, this, 
which we must not desecrate needless.” This was a portion 
of Sacred Wafer, which he put in an envelope and handed 
to me. Each of the others was similarly equipped. “Now,” 
he said, “friend John, where are the skeleton keys? If so 
that we can open the door, we need not break house by the 
window, as before at Miss Lucy’s.” 

Dr. Seward tried one or two skeleton keys, his mechanical 
dexterity as a surgeon standing him in good stead. Pres- 


Dracula 


250 

ently he got one to suit ; after a little play back and forward 
the bolt yielded, and, with a rusty clang, shot back. We 
pressed on the door, the rusty hinges creaked, and it slowly 
opened. It was startlingly like the image conveyed to me in 
Dr. Seward’s diary of the opening of Miss Westenra’s tomb; 
I fancy that the same idea seemed to strike the others, for 
vith one accord they shrank back. The Professor was the 
first to move forward, and stepped into the open door. 

“In manus tuas, D online!” he said, crossing himself as he 
passed over the threshold. We closed the door behind us, 
lest when we should have lit our lamps we should possibly 
attract attention from the road. The Professor carefully 
tried the lock, lest we might not be able to open it from 
within should we be in a hurry making our exit. Then we 
all lit our lamps and proceeded on our search. 

The light from the tiny lamps fell in all sorts of odd 
forms, as the rays crossed each other, or the opacity of our 
bodies threw great shadows. I could not for my life get 
away from the feeling that there was some one else amongst 
us. I suppose it was the recollection, so powerfully brought 
home to me by the grim surroundings, of that terrible ex- 
perience in Transylvania. I think the feeling was common 
to us all, for I noticed that the others kept looking over their 
shoulders at every sound and every new shadow, just as I 
felt myself doing. 

The whole place was thick with dust. The floor was 
seemingly inches deep, except where there were recent foot- 
steps, in which on holding down my lamp I could see marks 
of hobnails where the dust was cracked. The walls were 
fluffy and heavy with dust, and in the corners were masses 
of spider’s webs, whereon the dust had gathered till they 
looked like old tattered rags as the weight had torn them 
partly down. On a table in the hall was a great bunch of 
keys, with a time-yellowed label on each. They had been 
used several times, for on the table were several similar 
rents in the blanket of dust, similar to that exposed when 
the Professor lifted them. He turned to me and said : — 

“You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps 
of it, and you know it at least more than we do. Which is 
the way to the chapel?” I had an idea of its direction, 
though on my former visit I had not been able to get admis- 
sion to it ; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turnings 
found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 251 

ito n bands. “This is the spot,” said the Professor as he 
turned his lamp on a small map of the house, copied from 
the file of my original correspondence regarding the pur- 
chase. With a little trouble we found the key on the bunch 
and opened the door. We were prepared for some unpleas- 
antness, for as we were opening the door a faint, malodorous 
air seemed to exhale through the gaps, but none of us evei 
expected such an odour as we encountered. None of the oth- 
ers had met the Count at all at close quarters, and when I 
had seen him he was either in the fasting stage of his exist- 
ence in his rooms or, when he was gloated with fresh blood, 
in a ruined building open to the air ; but here the place was 
small and close, and the long disuse had made the air stag- 
nant and foul. There was an earthy smell, as of some dry 
miasma, which came through the fouler air. But as to the 
odour itself, how shall I describe it? It was not alone that 
it was composed of all the ills of mortality and with the 
pungent, acrid smell of blood, but it seemed as though cor- 
ruption had become itself corrupt. Faugh ! it sickens me to 
think of it. Every breath exhaled by that monster seemed 
to have clung to the place and intensified its loathsomeness. 

Under ordinary circumstances such a stench would have 
brought our enterprise to an end ; but this was no ordinary 
case, and the high and terrible purpose in which we were 
involved gave us a strength which rose above merely physi- 
cal considerations. After the involuntary shrinking conse- 
quent on the first nauseous whiff, we one and all set about 
our work as though that loathsome place were a garden of 
roses. 

We made an accurate examination of the place, the Pro- 
fessor saying as we began : — 

“The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left ; 
we must then examine every hole and corner and cranny and 
see if we cannot get some clue as to what has become of the 
rest.” A glance was sufficient to show how many remained, 
for the great earth chests were bulky, and there was no mis- 
taking them. 

There were only twenty-nine left out of the fifty ! Once I 
got a fright, for, seeing Lord Godaiming suddenly turn and 
look out of the vaulted door into the dark passage beyond, I 
looked too, and for an instant my heart stood still. Some- 
where, looking out from the shadow, I seemed to see the 
high lights of the Count’s evil face, the ridge of the nose. 


Dracula 


252 

the red eyes, the red lips, the awful pallor. It was only for 
a moment, for, as Lord Godaiming said, “I thought I saw 
a face, but it was only the shadows,” and resumed his in- 
quiry, I turned my lamp in the direction, and stepped into 
the passage. There was no sign of any one; and as there 
were no corners, no doors, no aperture of any kind, but only 
the solid walls of the passage, there could be no hiding-place 
even for him. I took it that fear had helped imagination, 
and said nothing. 

A few minutes later I saw Morris step suddenly back from 
a corner, which he was examining. We all followed his 
movements with our eyes, for undoubtedly some nervous- 
ness was growing on us, and we saw a whole mass of phos- 
phorescence, which twinkled like stars. We all instinctively 
drew back. The whole place was becoming alive with rats. 

For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord 
Godaiming, who was seemingly prepared for such an emer- 
gency. Rushing over to the great iron-bound oaken door, 
which Dr. Seward had described from the outside, and 
which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew 
the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his 
little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. 
It was answered from behind Dr. Seward’s house by the 
yelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers came 
dashing round the corner of the house. Unconsciously we 
had all moved towards the door, and as we moved I noticed 
that the dust had been much disturbed: the boxes which 
had been taken out had been brought this way. But even 
in the minute that had elapsed the number of the rats had 
vastly increased. They seemed to swarm over the place all 
at once, till the lamplight, shining on their moving dark 
bodies and glittering, baleful eyes, made the place look like 
a bank of earth set with fireflies. The dogs dashed on, but 
at the threshold suddenly stopped and snarled, and then, 
simultaneously lifting their noses, began to howl in most 
lugubrious fashion. The rats were multiplying in thou- 
sands, and we moved out. 

Lord Godaiming lifted one of the dogs, and carrying him 
in, placed him on the floor. The instant his feet touched the 
ground he seemed to recover his courage, and rushed at his 
natural enemies. They fled before him so fast that before he 
had shaken the life out of a score, the other dogs, who had 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 253 

by now been lifted in in the same manner, had but small prey 
ere the whole mass had vanished. 

With their going it seemed as if some evil presence had 
departed, for the dogs frisked about and barked merrily as 
they made sudden darts at their prostrate foes, and turned 
them over and over and tossed them in the air with vicious 
shakes. We all seemed to find our spirits rise. Whether it 
was the purifying of the deadly atmosphere by the opening 
of the chapel door, or the relief which we experienced by 
finding ourselves in the open I know not ; but most certainly 
the shadow of dread seemed to slip from us like a robe, and 
the occasion of our coming lost something of its grim sig- 
nificance, though we did not slacken a whit in our resolution. 
We closed the outer door and barred and locked it, and 
bringing the dogs with us, began our search of the house. 
We found nothing throughout except dust in extraordinary 
proportions, and all untouched save for my own footsteps 
when I had made my first visit. Never once did the dogs 
exhibit any symptom of uneasiness, and even when we re- 
turned to the chapel they frisked about as though they had 
been rabbit-hunting in a summer wood. 

The morning was quickening in the east when we emerged 
from the front. Dr. Van Helsing had taken the key of the 
hall-door from the bunch, and locked the door in orthodox 
fashion, putting the key into his pocket when he had done. 

“So far,” he said, “our night has been eminently success- 
ful. No harm has come to us such as I feared might be and yet 
we have ascertained how many boxes are missing. More 
than all do I rejoice that this, our first — and perhaps our 
most difficult and dangerous — step has been accomplished 
without the bringing thereinto our most sweet Madam Mina 
or troubling her waking or sleeping thoughts with sights and 
sounds and smells of horror which she might never forget. 
One lesson, too, we have learned, if it be allowable to argue 
a particulari: that the brute beasts which are to the Count’s 
command are yet themselves not amenable to his spiritual 
power; for look, these rats that would come to his call, just 
as from his castle top he summon the wolves to your going 
and to that poor mother’s cry, though they come to him, they 
run pell-mell from the so little dogs of my friend Arthur. 
We have other matters before us, other dangers, other fears ; 
and that monster — he has not used his power over the brute 
world for the only or the last time to-night. So be it that he 


Dracula 


*54 

has gone elsewhere. Good ! It has given us opportunity tc 
cry ‘check’ in some ways in this chess game, which we play 
for the stake of human souls. And now let us go home. The 
dawn is close at hand, and we have reason to be content with 
our first night’s work. It may be ordained that we have 
many nights and days to follow, if full of peril ; but we must 
go on, and from no danger shall we shrink.” 

The house was silent when we got back, save for some 
poor creature who was screaming away in one of the distant 
wards, and a low, moaning sound from Renfield’s room. 
The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself, after the 
manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain. 

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, 
breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. 
She looks paler than usual. I hope the meeting to-night has 
not upset her. I am truly thankful that she is to be left out 
of our future work, and even of our deliberations. It is too 
great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not think so at 
first, but I know better now. Therefore I am glad that it is 
settled. There may be things which would frighten her to 
hear ; and yet to conceal them from her might be worse than 
to tell her if once she suspected that there was any conceal- 
ment. Henceforth our work is to be a sealed book to her, 
till at least such time as we can tell her that all is finished, 
and the earth free from a monster of the nether world. 1 
daresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after such 
confidence as ours ; but I must be resolute, and to-morrow 
I shall keep dark over to-night’s doings, and shall refuse to 
speak of anything that has happened. I rest on the sofa, so 
as not to disturb her. 

i October, later . — I suppose it was natural that we should 
have all overslept ourselves, for the day was a busy one, and 
the night had no rest at all. Even Mina must have felt its 
exhaustion, for though I slept till the sun was high, I was 
awake before her, and had to call two or three times before 
she awoke. Indeed, she was so sound asleep that for a few 
seconds she did not recognize me, but looked at me with a 
sort of blank terror, as one looks who has been waked out of 
a bad dream. She complained a little of being tired, and I 
let her rest till later in the day. We now know of twenty- 
one boxes having been removed, and if it be that several 
were taken in any of these removals we may be able to trace 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 255 

them all. Such will, of course, immensely simplify our la- 
bour, and the sooner the matter is attended to the better* I 
shall look up Thomas Snelling to-day. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

I October . — It was towards noon when I was awakened 
by the Professor walking into my room. He was more jolly 
and cheerful than usual, and it is quite evident that last 
night’s work has helped to take some of the brooding weight 
off his mind. After going over the adventure of the night 
he suddenly said : — 

“Your patient interests me much. May it be that with you 
I visit him this morning? Or if that you are too occupy, I 
can go alone if it may be. It is a new experience to me to 
find a lunatic who talk philosophy, and reason so sound.” I 
had some work to do which pressed, so I told him that if he 
would go alone I would be glad, as then I should not have to 
keep him waiting; so I called an attendant and gave him 
the necessary instructions. Before the Professor left the 
room I cautioned him against getting any false impression 
from my patient. “But,” he answered, “I want him to talk 
of himself and of his delusion as to consuming live things. 
He said to Madam Mina, as I see in your diary of yester- 
day, that he had once had such a belief. Why do you smile, 
friend John?” 

“Excuse me,” I said, “but the answer is here.” I laid my 
hand on the type-written matter. “When our sane and 
learned lunatic made that very statement of how he used to 
consume life, his mouth was actually nauseous with the flies 
and spiders which he had eaten just before Mrs. Harker 
entered the room.” Van Helsing smiled in turn. “Good!” 
he said. “Your memory is true, friend John. I should have 
remembered. And yet it is this very obliquity of thought 
and memory which makes mental disease such a fascinating 
study. Perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of the folly 
of this madman than I shall from the teaching of the most 
wise. Who knows ?” I went on with my work, and before 
long was through that in hand. It seemed that the time had 
been very short indeed, but there was Van Helsing back in 
the study. “Do I interrupt?” he asked politely as he stood 
at the door. 

“Not at all,” I answered. “Come in. My work is fin 
ished, and I am free. I can go with you now, if you like.” 


?,$6 Dracula 

“It is needless ; I have seen him !” 

“Well?” 

“I fear that he does not appraise me at much. Our in- 
terview was short. When I entered his room he was sitting 
on a stool in the centre, with his elbows on his knees, and his 
face was the picture of sullen discontent. I spoke to him as 
cheerfully as I could, and with such a measure of respect as 
I could assume. He made no reply whatever. “Don’t you 
know me?” I asked. His answer was not reassuring: “I 
know you well enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. 
1 wish you would take yourself and your idiotic brain theo- 
ries somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!” 
Not a word more would he say, but sat in his implacable 
Bullenness as indifferent to me as though I had not been in 
the room at all. Thus departed for this time my chance of 
much learning from this so clever lunatic ; so I shall go, if I 
may, and cheer myself with a few happy words with that 
sweet soul Madam Mina. Friend John, it does rejoice me 
unspeakable that she is no more to be pained, no more to be 
worried, with our terrible things. Though we shall much 
miss her help, it is better so.” 

“I agree with you with all my heart,” I answered ear- 
nestly, for I did not want him to weaken in this matter. 
“Mrs. Harker is better out of it. Things are quite bao 
enough for us, all men of the world, and who have been in 
many tight places in our time ; but it is no place for a woman, 
and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would 
in time infallibly have wrecked her.” 

So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker and 
Harker ; Quincey and Art are all out following up the clues 
as to the earth-boxes. I shall finish my round of work, and 
we shall meet to-night. 

Mina Harkens Journal . 

i October . — It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I 
am to-day; after Jonathan’s full confidence for so many 
years, to see him manifestly avoid certain matters, and those 
the most vital of all. This morning I slept late after the fa- 
tigues of yesterday, and though Jonathan was late too, he 
was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went out, never 
more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mention d a word of 
what had happened in the visit to the Count’s house. And 
yet he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 25^ 

dear fellow ! I suppose it must have distressed him even 
more than it did me. They all agreed that it was best that I 
should not be drawn further into this awful work, and I ac- 
quiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! 
And now I am crying like a silly fool, when I know it comes 
from my husband’s great love and from the good, good 
wishes of those other strong men 

That has done me good. Well, some day Jonathan will 
tell me all ; and lest it should ever be that he should think 
for a moment that I kept anything from him, I still keep my 
journal as usual. Then if he has feared of my trust I shall 
show it to him, with every thought of my heart put down 
for his dear eyes to read. I feel strangely sad and. low- 
spirited to-day. I suppose it is the reaction from the terrible 
excitement. 

Last night I went to bed when the men had gone, simply 
because they told me to. I didn’t feel sleepy, and I did feel 
full of devouring anxiety. I kept thinking over everything 
that has been ever since Jonathan came to see me in London, 
and it all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fate pressing on 
relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one does 
seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very 
thing which is most to be deplored. If I hadn’t gone to 
Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us now. She 
hadn’t taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if 
she hadn’t come there in the day-time with me she wouldn’t 
have walked there in her sleep ; and if she hadn’t gone there 
at night and asleep, that monster couldn’t have destroyed 
her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There 
now, crying again ! I wonder what has come over me to- 
day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew that I 
had been crying twice in one morning — I, who never cried 
on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed 
a tear — the dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put 
a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see it. 
I suppose it is one of the lessons that we poor women have 
to learn 

I can’t quite remember how I fell asleep last night. I re- 
member hearing the sudden barking of the dogs and a lot of 
queer sounds, like praying on a very tumultuous scale, from 
Mr. Renfield’s room, which is somewhere under this. And 
then there was silence over everything, silence so profound 
that it startled me, and I got up and looked out of the win- 
(11} 


Dracula 


258 

dow. All was dark and silent, the black shadows thrown by 
the moonlight seeming full of a silent mystery of their own. 
Not a thing seemed to be stirring, but all to be grim and 
fixed as death or fate; so that a thin streak of white mist, 
that crept with almost imperceptible slowness across the 
grass towards the house, seemed to have a sentience and a 
vitality of its own. I think that the digression of my thoughts 
must have done me good, for when I got back to bed I found 
a lethargy creeping over me. I lay a while, but could not 
quite sleep, so I got out and looked out of the window again. 
The mist was spreading, and was now close up to the house, 
so that I could see it lying thick against the wall, as though 
it were stealing up to the windows. The poor man was 
more loud than ever, and though I could not distinguish a 
word he said, I could in some way recognise in his tones 
some passionate entreaty on his part. Then there was the 
sound of a struggle, and I knew that the attendants were 
dealing with him. I was so frightened that I crept into bed, 
and pulled the clothes over my head, putting my fingers in 
my ears. I was not then a bit sleepy, at least so I thought ; 
but I must have fallen asleep, for, except dreams, I do not 
remember anything until the morning, when Jonathan woke 
me. I think that it took me an effort and a little time to 
realise where I was, and that it was Jonathan who was bend- 
ing over me. My dream was very peculiar, and was almost 
typical of the way that waking thoughts become merged in, 
or continued in, dreams. 

I thought that I was asleep, and waiting for Jonathan to 
come back. I was very anxious about him, and I was pow- 
erless to act; my feet, and my hands, and my brain were 
weighted, so that nothing could proceed at the usual pace. 
And so I slept uneasily and thought. Then it began to dawn 
upon me that the air was heavy, and dank, and cold. I put 
back the clothes from my face, and found, to my surprise, 
that all was dim around. The gas-light which I had left 
lit for Jonathan, but turned down, came only like a tiny red 
spark through the fog, which had evidently grown thicker 
and poured into the room. Then it occurred to me that I 
had shut the window before I had come to bed. I would 
have got out to make certain on the point, but some leaden 
lethargy seemed to chain my limbs and even my will. I lay 
still and endured ; that was all. I closed my eyes, but could 
still see through my eyelids. (It is wonderful what tricks 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 259 

our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.) 
The mist grew thicker and thicker, and I could see now how 
it came in, for I could see it like smoke — or with the white 
energy of boiling water — pouring in, not through the win- 
dow, but through the joinings of the door. It got thicker 
and thicker, till it seemed as if it became concentrated into a 
sort of pillar of cloud in the room, through the top of which 
I could see the light of the gas shining like a red eye. Things 
began to whirl through my brain just as the cloudy column 
was now whirling in the room, and through it all came the 
scriptural words “a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by 
night.” Was it indeed some such spiritual guidance that 
was coming to me in my sleep ? But the pillar was composed 
of both the day and the night-guiding, for the fire was in 
the red eye, which at the thought got a new fascination for 
me; till, as I looked, the fire divided, and seemed to shine 
on me through the fog like two red eyes, such as Lucy told 
me of in her momentary mental wandering when, on the 
cliff, the dying sunlight struck the windows of St. Mary’s 
Church. Suddenly the horror burst upon me that it was 
thus that Jonathan had seen those awful women growing 
into reality through the whirling mist in the moonlight, and 
in my dream I must have fainted, for all became black dark- 
ness. The last conscious effort which imagination made was 
to show me a livid white face bending over me out of the 
mist. I must be careful of such dreams, for they would 
unseat one’s reason if there were too much of them. I would 
get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribe something 
for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarm 
them. Such a dream at the present time would become 
woven into their fears for me. To-night I shall strive hard 
to sleep naturally. If I do not, I shall to-morrow night get 
them to give me a dose of chloral ; that cannot hurt me for 
once, and it will give me a good night’s sleep. Last night 
tired me more than if I had not slept at all. 

2 October 10 p.m . — Last night I slept, but did not dream. 
I must have slept soundly, for I was not waked by Jona- 
than coming to bed ; but the sleep has not refreshed me, for 
to-day I feel terribly weak and spiritless. I spent all yester- 
day trying to read, or lying down dozing. In the afternoon 
Mr. Renfield asked if he might see me. Poor man, he was 
very gentle, and when I came away he kissed my hand and 


«6o 


Dracula 


bade God bless me. Some way it affected me much; I am 
crying when I think of him. This is a new weakness, of 
which I must be careful. Jonathan would be miserable if 
he knew I had been crying. He and the others were out un- 
til dinner-time, and they all came in tired. I did what I 
could to brighten them up, and 1 suppose that the effort did 
me good, for I forgot how tired I was. After dinner they 
sent me to bed, and all went off to smoke together, as they 
said, but I knew that they wanted to tell each other of what 
had occurred to each during the day; I could see from Jona- 
than’s manner that he had something important to commu- 
nicate. I was not so sleepy as I should have been ; so before 
they went I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of 
some kind, as I had not slept well the night before. He very 
kindly made me up a sleeping draught, which he gave to 
me, telling me that it would do me no harm, as it was very 

mild I have taken it, and am waiting for sleep, 

which still keeps aloof. I hope I have not done wrong, for 
as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that I 
may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the power 
of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Good- 
night. 


CHAPTER XX 

JONATHAN HARKER’s JOURNAL 

I October, evening . — I found Thomas Snelling in his 
house at Bethnal Green, but unhappily he was not in a con- 
dition to remember anything. The very prospect of beer 
which my expected coming had opened to him had proved 
too much, and he had begun too early on his expected de- 
bauch. I learned, however, from his wife, who seemed a 
decent, poor soul, that he was only the assistant to Smollet, 
who of the two mates was the responsible person. So off I 
drove to Walworth, and found Mr. Joseph Smollet at home 
and in his shirtsleeves, taking a late tea out of a saucer. He 
is a decent, intelligent fellow, distinctly a good, reliable type 
of workman, and with a headpiece of his own. He remem- 
bered all about the incident of the boxes, and from a wonder- 
ful dog’s-eared notebook, which he produced from some 
mysterious receptacle about the seat of his trousers, and 
which had hieroglyphical entries in thick, half-obliterated 
pencil, he gave me the destinations of the boxes. There were, 
he said, six in the cartload which he took from Carfax and 
left at 197, Chicksand Street, Mile End New Town, and 
another six which he deposited at Jamaica Lane, Bermond- 
sey. If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly 
refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the 
first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more fully. 
The systematic manner in which this was done made me 
think that he could not mean to confine himself to two sides 
of London. He was now fixed on the far east of the north- 
ern shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the 
south. The north and west were surely never meant to be 
left out of his diabolical scheme — let alone the City itself 
and the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west 
and west. I went back to Smollet, and asked him if he 
could tell us if any other boxes had been taken from Carfax. 

He replied: — 

‘Well, guv’nor, you’ve treated me wery ’an’some” — I had 
given him half a sovereign — “an’ I’ll tell yer all I know 4 


z6z 


Dracula 


heard a man by the name of Bloxam say four nights ago in 
the ’Are an’ ’Ounds, in Pincher’s Alley, as ’ow he an’ his 
mate ’ad ’ad a rare dusty job in a old ’ouse at Purfect. 
There ain’t a-many such jobs as this ’ere, an’ I’m thinkin’ 
that maybe Sam Bloxam could tell ye summut.” I asked if 
he could tell me where to find him. I told him that if 
he could get me the address it would be worth another 
half-sovereign to him. So he gulped down the rest of his 
tea and stood up, saying that he was going to begin the 
search then and there. At the door he stopped, and said : — - 

“Look ’ere, guv’nor, there ain’t no sense in me a-keepin’ 
you ’ere. I may find Sam soon, or I mayn’t ; but anyhow he 
ain’t like to be in a way to tell ye much to-night. Sam is a 
rare one when he starts on the booze. If you can give me a 
envelope with a stamp on it, and put yer address on it, I’ll 
find out where Sam is to be found and post it ye to-night. 
But ye’d better be up arter ’im soon in the mornin’, or maybe 
ye won’t ketch ’im ; for Sam gets off main early, never mind 
the booze the night afore.” 

This was all practical, so one of the children went off with 
a penny to buy an envelope and a sheet of paper, and to keep 
the change. When she came back, I addressed the envelope 
and stamped it, and when Smollet had again faithfully prom- 
ised to post the address when found, I took my way to 
home. We’re on the track anyhow. I am tired to-night, and 
want sleep. Mina is fast asleep, and looks a little too pale; 
her eyes look as though she had been crying. Poor dear, I’ve 
no doubt it frets her to be kept in the dark, and it may make 
her doubly anxious about me and the others. But it is best as 
it is. It is better to be disappointed and worried in such a 
way now than to have her nerve broken. The doctors were 
quite right to insist on her being kept out of this dreadful 
business. I must be firm, for on me this particular burden of 
silence must rest. I shall not ever enter on the subject with 
her under any circumstances. Indeed, it may not be a hard 
task, after all, for she herself has become reticent on the sub- 
ject, and has not spoken of the Count or his doings ever 
since we told her of our decision. 

2 October, evening . — A long and trying and exciting day. 
By the first post I got my directed envelope with a dirty 
scrap of paper enclosed, on which was written with a car 
penter’s pencil in a sprawling hand : — 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 263 

“Sam Bloxam, Korkrans, 4, Poters Cort, Bartel Street, 
Walworth. Arsk for the depite.” 

I got the letter in bed, and rose without waking Mina. 
She looked heavy and sleepy and pale, and far from well. I 
determined not to wake her, but that, when I should return 
from this new search, I would arrange for her going back to 
Exeter. I think she would be happier in our own home, with 
her daily tasks to interest her, than in being here amongst us 
and in ignorance. I only saw Dr. Seward for a moment, and 
told him where I was off to, promising to come back and tell 
the rest so soon as I should have found out anything. I 
drove to Walworth and found, with some difficulty, Potter’s 
Court. Mr. Smollet’s spelling misled me, as I asked for 
Poter’s Court instead of Potter’s Court. However, when I 
had, found the court, I had no difficulty in discovering Cor- 
coran’s lodging-house. When I asked the man who came 
to the door for the “depite,” he shook his head, and said : “I 
dunno ’im. There ain’t no such a person ’ere ; I never ’eard 
of ’im in all my bloomin’ days. Don’t believe there ain’t 
nobody of that kind livin’ ’ere or anywheres.” I took out 
Smollet’s letter, and as I read it it seemed to me that the les- 
son of the spelling of the name of the court might guide me. 
“What are you ?” I asked. 

“I’m the depity,” he answered. I saw at once that I was 
on the right track; phonetic spelling had again misled me. 
A half-crown tip put the deputy’s knowledge at my disposal, 
and I learned that Mr. Bloxam, who had slept off the re- 
mains of his beer on the previous night at Corcoran’s, had 
left for his work at Poplar at five o’clock that morning. He 
could not tell me where the place of work was situated, but 
he had a vague idea that it was some kind of a “new-fangled 
ware’us and with this slender clue I had to start for Pop- 
lar. It was twelve o’clock before I got any satisfactory hint 
of such a building, and this I got at a coffee-shop, where 
some workmen were having their dinner. One of these 
suggested that there was being erected at Cross Angel Street 
a new “cold storage” building ; and as this suited the condi- 
tion of a “new-fangled ware’us,” I at once drove to it. An 
interview with a surly gatekeeper and a surlier foreman, 
both of whom were appeased with the coin of the realm, put 
me on the track of Bloxam ; he was sent for on my suggest- 
ing that I was willing to pay his day’s wages to his fore- 
man for the privilege of asking him a few questions on a 


Dracula 


264 

private matter. He was a smart enough fellow, though 
rough of speech and bearing. When I had promised to pay 
for his information and given him an earnest, he told me 
that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house 
in Piccadilly, and had taken from this house to the latter 
nine great boxes — “main heavy ones” — with a horse and 
cart hired by him for this purpose. I asked him if he could 
tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to which he 
replied : — 

“Well, guv’nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a 
few doors from a big white church or somethink of the kind, 
not long built. It was a dusty old ’ouse, too, though nothin’ 
to the dustiness of the ’ouse we tooked the bloomin’ boxes 
from.” 

“How did you get into the houses if they were both 
empty ?” 

“There was the old party what engaged me a-waitin’ in 
the ’ouse at Purfleet. He ’elped me to lift the boxes and 
put them in the dray. Curse me, but he was the strongest 
chap I ever struck, an’ him a old feller, with a white mous- 
tache, one that thin you would think he couldn’t throw a 
shadder.” 

How this phrase thrilled through me ! 

“Why, ’e. took up ’is end o’ the boxes like they was pounds 
of tea, and me a-puffin’ an’ a-blowin’ afore I could up-end 
mine anyhow — an’ I’m no chicken, neither.” 

“How did you get into the house in Piccadilly ?” I asked. 

“He was there too. He must ’a’ started off and got there 
afore me, for when I rung of the bell he kem an’ opened the 
door ’isself an’ ’elped me to carry the boxes into the ’all.” 

“The whole nine ?” I asked. 

“Yus; there was five in the first load an’ four in the sec- 
ond. It was main dry work, an’ I don’t so well remember 
’ow I got ’ome.” I interrupted him : — 

“Were the boxes left in the hall?” 

“Yus ; it was a big ’all, an’ there was nothin’ else in it.” I 
made one more attempt to further matters: — 

“You didn’t have any key?” 

“Never used no key nor nothink. The old gent, he opened 
the door ’isself an’ shut it again when I druv off. I don’t 
remember the last time — but that was the beer.” 

“And you can’t remember the number of the house?” 

“No, sir. But y* needn’t have no difficulty about that 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 265 

It’s a ’igh ’un with a stone front with a bow on it, an* 'igh 
steps up to the door. I know them steps, ’avin ’ad to carry 
the boxes up with three loafers what come round to earn a 
copper. The old gent give them shillin’s, an’ they seem’ 
they got so much, they wanted more; but ’e took one of 
them by the shoulder and was like to throw ’im down the 
steps, till the lot of them went away cussin’.” I thought 
that with this description I could find the house, so, having 
paid my friend for his information, I started off for Picca- 
dilly. I had gained a new painful experience; the Count 
could, it was evident, handle the earth-boxes himself. If so, 
time was precious ; for, now that he had achieved a certain 
amount of distribution, he could, by choosing his own time, 
complete the task unobserved. At Piccadilly Circus I dis- 
charged my cab, and walked westward; beyond the Junior 
Constitutional I came across the house described, and was 
satisfied that this was the next of the lairs arranged by 
Dracula. The house looked as though it had been long un- 
tenanted. The windows were encrusted with dust, and the 
shutters were up. All the framework was black with time, 
and from the iron the paint had mostly scaled away. It was 
evident that up to lately there had been a large notice-board 
in front of the balcony ; it had, however, been roughly torn 
away, the uprights which had supported it still remaining. 
Behind the rails of the balcony I saw there were some loose 
boards, whose raw edges looked white. I would have given 
a good deal to have been able to see the notice-board intact, 
as it would, perhaps, have given some clue to the ownership 
of the house. I remembered my experience of the investiga- 
tion and purchase of Carfax, and I could not but feel that if 
I could find the former owner there might be some means 
discovered of gaining access to the house. 

There was at present nothing to be learned from the Pic- 
cadilly side, and nothing could be done ; so I went round to 
the back to see if anything could be gathered from this 
quarter. The mews were active, the Piccadilly houses being 
mostly in occupation. I asked one or two of the grooms 
and helpers whom I saw around if they could tell me any- 
thing about the empty house. One of them said that he 
heard it had lately been taken, but he couldn’t say from 
whom. He told me, however, that up to very lately there 
had been a notice-board of “For Sale” up, and that perhaps 
Mitchell, Sons, & Candy, the house agents, could tell me 


266 


Dracula 


something, as he thought he remembered seeing the name of 
that firm on the board. I did not wish to seem too eager, 
or to let my informant know or guess too much, so, thanking 
him in the usual manner, I strolled away. It was now grow- 
ing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I did not 
lose any time. Having learned the address of Mitchell, 
Sons, & Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon 
at their office in Sackville Street. 

The gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in 
manner, but uncommunicative in equal proportion. Having 
once told me that the Piccadilly house — which throughout 
our interview he called a “mansion’’ — was sold, he con- 
sidered my business as concluded. When I asked who had 
purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and paused 
a few seconds before replying : — 

“It is sold, sir.” 

“Pardon me,” I said, with equal politeness, “but I have a 
special reason for wishing to know who purchased it.” 

Again he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still 
more. “It is sold, sir,” was again his laconic reply. 

“Surely,” I said, “you do not mind letting me know so 
much.” 

“But I do mind,” he answered. “The affairs of their 
clients are absolutely safe in the hands of Mitchell, Sons, & 
Candy.” This was manifestly a prig of the first water, and 
there was no use arguing with him. I thought I had best 
meet him on his own ground, so I said : — 

“Your clients, sir, are happy in having so resolute a 
guardian of their confidence. I am myself a professional 
man.” Here I handed him my card. “In this instance I am 
not prompted by curiosity; I act on the part of Lord God- 
aiming, who wishes to know something of the property 
which was, he understood, lately for sale.” These words 
put a different complexion on affairs. He said : — 

“I would like to oblige you if I could, Mr. Harker, and 
especially would I like to oblige his lordship. We once car- 
ried out a small matter of renting some chambers for him 
when he was the Honourable Arthur Holmwood. If you 
will let me have his lordship’s address I will consult the 
House on the subject, and will, in any case, communicate 
with his lordship by to-night’s post. It will be a pleasure if 
we can so far deviate from our rules as to give the required 
information to his lordship.” 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 267 

I wanted to secure a friend, and not to make an enemy, so 
I thanked him, gave the address at Dr. Seward’s, and came 
away. It was now dark, and I was tired and hungry. I got 
a cup of tea at the Aerated Bread Company and came down 
to Purfleet by the next train. 

I found all the others at home. Mina was looking tired 
and pale, but she made a gallant effort to be bright and 
cheerful ; it wrung my heart to think that I had had to keep 
anything from her and so caused her inquietude. Thank 
God, this will be the last night of her looking on at our con- 
ferences, and feeling the sting of our not showing our con- 
fidence. It took all my courage to hold tothe wise resolution of 
keeping her out of our grim task. She seems somehow more 
reconciled; or else the very subject seems to have become 
repugnant to her, for when any accidental allusion is made 
she actually shudders. I am glad we made our resolution in 
time, as with such a feeling as this, our growing knowledge 
would be torture to her. 

I could not tell the others of the day’s discovery till we 
were alone; so after dinner — followed by a little music to 
save appearances even amongst ourselves — I took Mina to 
her room and left her to go to bed. The dear girl was more 
affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me as though 
she would detain me ; but there was much to be talked of and 
I came away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has 
made no difference between us. 

When I came down again I found the others all gathered 
round the fire in , the study. In the train I had written my 
diary so far, and simply read it off to them as the best means 
of letting them get abreast of my own information ; when I 
had finished Van Helsing said : — 

“This has been a great day’s work, friend Jonathan. 
Doubtless we are on the track of the missing boxes. If we 
find them all in that house, then our work is near the end. 
But if there be some missing, we must search until we find 
them. Then shall we make our final coup , and hunt the 
wretch to his real death.” We all sat silent awhile and all 
at once Mr. Morris spoke : — 

“Say ! how are we going to get into that house ?” 

“We got into the other,” answered Lord Godaiming 
quickly. 

“But, Art, this is different. We broke house at Carfax, 
but we had night and a walled park to protect us. It will be 


268 


Dracula 


a mighty different thing to commit burglary in Piccadilly, 
either by day or night. I confess I don’t see how we are go- 
ing to get in unless that agency duck can find us a key of 
some sort; perhaps we shall know when you get his letter 
in the morning.” Lord Godaiming’s brows contracted, and 
he stood up and walked about the room. By-and-by he 
stopped and said, turning from one to another of us : — 
“Quincey's head is level. This burglary business is get- 
ting serious; we got off once all right; but we have now a 
rare job on hand — unless we can find the Count’s key bas- 
ket.” 

As nothing could well be done before morning, and as it 
would be at least advisable to wait till Lord Godaiming 
should hear from Mitchell’s, we decided not to take any ac- 
tive step before breakfast time. For a good while we sat and 
smoked, discussing the matter in its various lights and bear- 
ings ; I took the opportunity of bringing this diary right up 
to the moment. I am very sleepy and shall go to bed. . . 

Just a line. Mina sleeps soundly and her breathing is 
regular. Her forehead is puckered up into little wrinkles, as 
though she thinks even in her sleep. She is still too pale, 
but does not look so haggard as she did this morning. To- 
morrow will, I hope, mend all this; she will be herself at 
home in Exeter. Oh, but I am sleepy ! 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

i October . — I am puzzled afresh about Renfield. His 
moods change so rapidly that I find it difficult to keep touch 
of them, and as they always mean something more than his 
own well-being, they form a more than interesting study. 
This morning, when I went to see him after his repulse of 
Van Helsing, his manner was that of a man commanding 
destiny. He was, in fact, commanding destiny — subjectively. 
He did not really care for any of the things of mere earth ; 
he was in the clouds and looked down on all the weaknesses 
and wants of us poor mortals. I thought I would improve 
the occasion and learn something, so I asked him : — 

“What about the flies these times?” He smiled on me in 
quite a superior sort of way — such a smile as would have 
become the face of Malvolio — as he answered me : — 

“The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature ; its wings 
are typical of the aerial powers of the psychic faculties. The 
ancients did well when they typified the soul as a butterfly !” 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 269 

I thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, 
so I said quickly : — 

“Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?” His madness 
foiled his reason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, 
shaking his head with a decision which I had but seldom 
seen in him, he said: — 

“Oh no, oh no ! I want no souls. Life is all I want.” Here 
he brightened up ; “I am pretty indifferent about it at pres- 
ent. Life is all right; I have all I want. You must get a 
new patient, doctor, if you wish to study zoophagy!” 

This puzzled me a little, so I drew him on : — 

“Then you command life ; you are a god I suppose ?” He 
smiled with an ineffably benign superiority. 

“Oh no ! Far be it from me to arrogate to myself the at- 
tributes of the Deity. I am not even concerned in His es- 
pecially spiritual doings. If I may state my intellectual posi- 
tion I am, so far as concerns things purely terrestrial, some- 
what in the position which Enoch occupied spiritually!” 
This was a poser to me. I could not at the moment recall 
Enoch’s appositeness; so I had to ask a simple question, 
though I felt that by so doing I was lowering myself in the 
eyes of the lunatic : — 

“And why with Enoch ?” 

“Because he walked with God.” I could not see the anal- 
ogy, but did not like to admit it ; so I harked back to what 
fie had denied: — 

“So you don’t care about life and you don’t want souls. 
Why not?” I put my question quickly and somewhat 
sternly, on purpose to disconcert him. The effort succeeded ; 
for an instant he unconsciously relapsed into his old servile 
manner, bent low before me, and actually fawned upon me 
as he replied : — 

“I don’t want any souls, indeed, indeed ! I don’t. I couldn’t 
use them if I had them ; they would be no manner of use to 

me. I couldn’t eat them or ” he suddenly stopped and 

the old cunning look spread over his face, like a wind-sweep 
on the surface of the water. “And doctor, as to life, what i? 
it after all ? When you’ve got all you require, and you know 
that you will never want, that is all. I have friends — good 
friends — like you Dr. Seward ;” this was said with a leer of 
inexpressible cunning, “I know that I shall never lack the 
means of life !” 

I think that through the cloudiness of his insanity he saw 


Dracula 


270 

some antagonism in me, for he at once fell back on the last 
refuge of such as he — a dogged silence. After a short time I 
saw that for the present it was useless to speak to him. He 
was sulky, and so I came away. 

Later in the day he sent for me. Ordinarily I would not 
have come without special reason, but just at present 1 am 
so interested in him that I would gladly make an effort. Be- 
sides, I am glad to have anything to help to pass the time. 
Harker is out, following up clues ; and so are Lord Godai- 
ming and Quincey. Van Helsing sits in my study poring 
over the record prepared by the Harkers ; he seems to think 
that by accurate knowledge of all details he will light upon 
some clue. He does not wish to be disturbed in the work, 
without cause. I would have taken him with me to see the 
patient, only I thought that after his last repulse he might 
not care to go again. There was also another reason : Ren- 
field might not speak so freely before a third person as when 
he and I were alone. 

I found him sitting out in the middle of the floor on his 
stool, a pose which is generally indicative of some mental 
energy on his part. When I came in, he said at once, as 
though the question had been waiting on his lips : — 

“What about souls ?” It was evident then that n\y sur- 
mise had been correct. Unconscious cerebration was doing 
its work, even with the lunatic. I determined to have the 
matter out. “What about them yourself?” I asked. He did 
not reply for a moment but looked all round him, and up and 
down, as though he expected to find some inspiration for an 
answer. 

“I don’t want any souls !” he said in a feeble, apologetic 
way. The matter seemed preying on his mind, and so I de- 
termined to use it — to “be cruel only to be kind.” So I 
said : — 

“You like life, and you want life?” 

“Oh yes ! but that is all right ; you needn’t worry about 
that !” 

“But,” I asked, “how are we to get the life without get- 
ting the soul also?” This seemed to puzzle him, so I fol- 
lowed it up : — 

“A nice time you’ll have some time when you’re flying out 
there, with the souls of thousands of flies and spiders and 
birds and cats buzzing and twittering and miauing all round 
you You’ve got their lives, you know, and you must put up 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 271 

with their souls !” Something seemed to affect his imagina- 
tion, for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes, 
screwing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his 
face is being soaped. There was something pathetic in it 
that touched me ; it also gave me a lesson, for it seemed that 
before me was a child — only a child, though the features 
were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white. It was 
evident that he was undergoing some process of mental dis- 
turbance, and, knowing how his past moods had interpreted 
things seemingly foreign to himself, I thought I would enter 
into his mind as well as I could and go with him. The first 
step was to restore confidence, so I asked him, speaking 
pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed 
ears : — 

“Would you like some sugar to get your flies round 
again ?” He seemed to wake up all at once, and shook his 
head. With a laugh he replied : — 

“Not much ! flies are poor things, after all !” After a 
pause he added, “But I don’t want their souls buzzing round 
me, all the same.” 

“Or spiders?” I went on. 

“Blow spiders! What’s the use of spiders? There isn’t 
anything in them to eat or” — he stopped suddenly, as though 
reminded of a forbidden topic. 

“So, so !” I thought to myself, “this is the second time he 
has suddenly stopped at the word ‘drink;’ what does it 
mean?” Renfield seemed himself aware of having made a 
lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distract my attention 
from it : — 

“I don’t take any stock at all in such matters. ‘Rats and 
mice and such small deer,’ as Shakespeare has it, ‘chicken- 
feed of the larder’ they might be called. I’m past all that 
sort of nonsense. You might as well ask a man to eat mole- 
cules with a pair of chop-sticks, as to try to interest me about 
the lesser carnivora, when I know of what is before me.” 

“I see,” I said. “You want big things that you can make 
your teeth meet in ? How would you like to breakfast on ele- 
phant ?” 

“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking !” He was 
getting too wide awake, so I thought I would press him 
hard. “I wonder,” I said reflectively, “what an elephant’s 
soul is like !” 


Dracula 


272 

The effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from 
his high-horse and became a child again. 

“I don’t want an elephant’s soul, or, any soul at all !” he 
said. For a few moments he sat despondently. Suddenly 
he jumped to his feet, with his eyes blazing and all the signs 
of intense cerebral excitement. “To hell with you and your 
souls!” he shouted. “Why do you plague me about souls. 
Haven’t I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me 
already, without thinking of souls!” He looked so hostile 
that I thought he was in for another homicidal fit, so I blew 
my whistle. The instant, however, that I did so he became 
calm, and said apologetically : — 

“Forgive me, Doctor; I forgot myself. You do not need 
any help. I am so worried in my mind that I am apt to be 
irritable. If you only knew the problem I have to face, and 
that I am working out, you would pity, and tolerate, and par- 
don me. Pray do not put me in a strait-waistcoat. I want 
to think and I cannot think freely when my body is confined. 
I am sure you will understand !” He had evidently self-con- 
trol ; so when the attendants came I told them not to mind, 
and they withdrew. Renfield watched them go; when the 
door was closed he said, with considerable dignity and sweet- 
ness : — 

“Dr. Seward you have been very considerate towards me. 
Believe me that I am very, very grateful to you !” I thought 
it well to leave him in this mood, and so I came away. There 
is certainly something to ponder over in this man’s state. 
Several points seem to make what the American interviewer 
calls “a story,” if one could only get them in proper order. 
Here they are : — 

Will not mention “drinking.” 

Fears the thought of being burdened with the “soul” of 
anything. 

Has no dread of wanting “life” in the future. 

Despises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he 
dreads being haunted by their souls. 

Logically all these things point one way ! he has assurance 
of some kind that he will acquire some higher life. He 
dreads the consequence — the burden of a soul. Then it is 
a human life he looks to ! 

And the assurance — ? 

Merciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is 
some new scheme of terror afoot I 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 273 

Later . — I went after my round to Van Helsing and told 
him my suspicion. He grew very grave; and, after thinking 
the matter over for a while asked me to take him to Renfield. 
I did so. As we came to the door we heard the lunatic within 
singing gaily, as he used to do in the time which now seems 
so long ago. When we entered we saw with amazement that 
he had spread out his sugar as of old ; the flies, lethargic with 
the autumn, were beginning to buzz into the room. We 
tried to make him talk of the subject of our previous con- 
versation, but he would not attend. He went on with his 
singing, just as though we had not been present. He had got 
a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book. We 
had to come away as ignorant as we went in. 

His is a curious case indeed ; we must watch him to-night, 

Letter , Mitchell, Sons and Candy to Lord Godaiming. 

“1 October. 

“My Lord, 

“We are at all times only too happy to meet your wishes. 
We beg, with regard to the desire of your Lordship, ex- 
pressed by Mr. Harker on your behalf, to supply the follow- 
ing information concerning the sale and purchase of No. 347, 
Piccadilly. The original vendors are the executors of the 
late Mr. Archibald Winter-Suffleld. The purchaser is a for- 
eign nobleman, Count de Ville, who effected the purchase 
himself paying the purchase money in notes ‘over the coun- 
ter/ if your Lordship will pardon us using so vulgar an ex- 
pression. Beyond this we know nothing whatever of him. 

“We are, my Lord, 

“Your Lordship’s humble servants, 

“Mitchell, Sons & Candy." 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

2 October. — I placed a man in the corridor last night, and 
told him to make an accurate note of any sound he might 
hear from Renfield’s room, and gave him instructions that if 
there should be anything strange he was to call me. After 
dinner, when we had all gathered round the fire in the study 
— Mrs. Harker having gone to bed — we discussed the at- 
tempts and discoveries of the day. Harker was the only one 
who had any result, and we are in great hopes that his clue 
may be an important one. 

OS) 


Dracula 


*7 4 

Before going to bed I went round to the patient’s room 
and looked in through the observation trap. He was sleep- 
ing soundly, and his heart rose and fell with regular respira- 
tion. 

This morning the man on duty reported to me that a little 
after midnight he was restless and kept saying his prayers 
somewhat loudly. I asked him if that was all; he replied 
that it was all he heard. There was something about his 
manner so suspicious that I asked him point blank if he had 
been asleep. He denied sleep, but admitted to having “dozed” 
for a while. It is too bad that men cannot be trusted unless 
they are watched. 

To-day Harker is out following up his clue, and Art and 
Quincey are looking after horses. Godaiming thinks that it 
will be well to have horses always in readiness, for when we 
get the information which we seek there will be no time to 
lose. We must sterilise all the imported earth between sun- 
rise and sunset ; we shall thus catch the Count at his weak- 
est, and without a refuge to fly to. Van Helsing is off to the 
British Museum looking up some authorities on ancient 
medicine. The old physicians took account of things which 
their followers do not accept, and the Professor is searching 
for witch and demon cures which may be useful to us later. 

I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall 
wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats. 

Later . — We have met again. We seem at last to be on 
the track, and our work of to-morrow may be the beginning 
of the end. I wonder if Renfield’s quiet has anything to do 
with this. His moods have so followed the doings of the 
Count, that the coming destruction of the monster may be 
carried to him in some subtle way. If we could only get 
some hint as to what passed in his mind, between the time 
of my argument with him to-day and his resumption of fly- 
catching, it might afford us a valuable clue. He is now seem- 
ingly quiet for a spell . . . . Is he? that wild 

yell seemed to come from his room .... 

The attendant came bursting into my room and told me 
that Renfield had somehow met with some accident. He had 
heard him yell; and when he went to him found him lyin^ 
on his face on the floor, all covered with blood. I must go 
at once 


CHAPTER XXI 

dr. seward's diary 

3 October . — Let me put down with exactness all that hap- 
pened, as well as I can remember it, since last I made an en- 
try. Not a detail that I can recall must be forgotten ; in all 
calmness I must proceed. 

When I came to Renfield’s room I found him lying on the 
floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I 
went to move him, it became at once apparent that he had 
received some terrible injuries; there seemed none of that 
unity of purpose between the parts of the body which marks 
even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see 
that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten 
against the floor — indeed it was from the face wounds that 
the pool of blood originated. The attendant who was kneel- 
ing beside the body said to me as we turned him over : — 

“I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm 
and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed.” How 
such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant be- 
yond measure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows 
were gathered in as he said : — 

“I can’t understand the two things. He could mark his 
face like that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a 
young woman do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before 
anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he might 
have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awk- 
ward kink. But for the life of me I can’t imagine how the 
two things occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn’t beat 
his head ; and if his face was like that before the fall out of 
bed, there would be marks of it.” I said to him : — 

“Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here 
at once. I want him without an instant’s delay.” The man 
ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his dress- 
ing gown and slippers appeared. When he saw Renfield on 
the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment and then 
turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eves, 
for he said very quietly manifestly for the ears of the at- 
tendant 


275 


Dracula 


276 

“Ah a sad accident ! He will need very careful watching, 
and much attention. I shall stay with you myself; but I 
shall first dress myself. If you will remain I shall in a few 
minutes join you.” 

The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was 
easy to see that he had suffered some terrible injury. Van 
Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with 
him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and 
had his mind made up; for, almost before he looked at the 
patient, he whispered to me : — 

“Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him 
when he becomes conscious, after the operation.” So I 
said : — 

“I think that will do now Simmons. We have done all 
that we can at present. You had better go your round, and 
Dr. Van Helsing will operate. Let me know instantly if 
there be anything unusual anywhere.” 

The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examina- 
tion of the patient. The wounds of the face were superfi- 
cial; the real injury was a depressed fracture of the skull, 
extending right up through the motor area. The Professor 
thought a moment and said : — 

“We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal 
conditions, as far as can be; the rapidity of the suffusion 
shows the terrible nature of his injury. The whole motor 
area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will increase 
quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late.” 
As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I 
went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, 
Arthur and Quincey in pajamas and slippers: the former 
spoke : — 

“I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him 
of an accident. So I woke Quincey or rather called for him 
as he was not asleep. Things are moving too quickly and 
too strangely for sound sleep for any of us these times. I’ve 
been thinking that to-morrow night will not see things as 
they have been. We’ll have to look back — and forward a 
little more than we have done. May we come in?” I nod- 
ded, and held the door open till they had entered; then I 
closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state 
of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he 
naid softly : — 

“My God ! what has happened to him ? Poor, poor devil 1*’ 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 277 

L told him briefly, and added that we expected he would re- 
cover consciousness after the operation — for a short time 
at all events. He went at once and sat down on the edge 
of the bed, with Godaiming beside him; we all watched in 
patience. 

“We shall wait,” said Van Helsing, “just long enough to 
fix the best spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly 
and perfectly remove the blood clot ; for it is evident that the 
haemorrhage is increasing.” 

The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful 
slowness. I had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from 
Van Helsing’s face I gathered that he felt some fear or ap- 
prehension as to what was to come. I dreaded the words 
that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think ; 
but the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have 
read of men who have heard the death-watch. The poor 
man’s breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant he 
seemed as though he would open his eyes and speak; but 
then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he 
would relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I 
was to sick beds and death, this suspense grew, and grew 
upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own heart ; 
and the blood surging through my temples sounded like 
blows from a hammer. The silence finally became agonising. 
I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from 
their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring 
equal torture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as 
though overhead some dread bell would peal out powerfully 
when we should least expect it. 

At last there came a time when it was evident that the pa- 
tient was sinking fast ; he might die at any moment. I looked 
up at the Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His 
face was sternly set as he spoke : — 

“There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many 
lives ; I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be 
there is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the 
ear.” 

Without another word he made the operation. For a few 
moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then 
there came a breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it 
would tear open his chest. Suddenly his eyes opened, and 
became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued 
hr a few moments ; then it softened into a glad surprise, and 


zy8 Dracula 

from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, 
and as he did so, said : — 

“I’ll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait- 
waistcoat. I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so 
weak that I cannot move. What’s wrong with my face? it 
feels all swollen, and it smarts dreadfully.” He tried to turn 
his head; but even with the effort his eyes seemed to grow 
glassy again, so I gently put it back. Then Van Helsing 
said in a quiet grave tone : — 

“Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.” As he heard the 
voice his face brightened through its mutilation, and he 
said : — 

“That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be 
here. Give me some water, my lips are dry ; and I shall try 
to tell you. I dreamed” — he stopped and seemed fainting, I 
called quietly to Quincey — “The brandy — it is in my study — 
quick !” He flew and returned with a glass, the decanter of 
brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched 
lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, 
that his poor injured brain had been working in the interval, 
for, when he was quite conscious, he looked at me piercingly 
with an agonised confusion which I shall never forget, and 
said : — 

“I must not deceive myself ; it was no dream, but all a 
grim reality.” Then his eyes roved round the room ; as 
they caught sight of the two figures sitting patiently on th? 
edge of the bed he went on : — 

“If I were not sure already, I would know from them.” 
For an instant his eyes closed — not with pain or sleep but 
voluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to 
bear; when he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with 
more energy than he had yet displayed : — 

“Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have 
but a few minutes; and then I must go back to death — or 
worse ! Wet my lips with brandy again. I have something 
that I must say before I die; or before my poor crushed 
brain dies anyhow. Thank you ! It was that night after you 
left me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn’t 
speak then, for I felt my tongue was tied ; but I was as sane 
then, except in that way, as I am now. I was in an agony 
of despair for a long time after you left me ; it seemed hours. 
Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed 
to become oool again, and I realised where I was. I heard 


Dr. Seward's Diary 279 

the dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!” 
As he spoke Van Helsing’s eyes never blinked, but his hand 
came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, 
however, betray himself; he nodded slightly and said: “Go 
on,” in a low voice. Renfield proceeded : — 

“He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him 
often before; but he was solid then — not a ghost, and his 
eyes were fierce like a man’s when angry. He was laughing 
with his red mouth; the sharp white teeth glinted in the 
moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of 
trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn’t ask him 
to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to — just as he 
had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things 
• — not in words but by doing them.” He was interrupted 
by a word from the Professor: — 

“How?” 

“By making them happen; just as he used to send in the 
flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with 
steel and sapphire on their wings; and big moths, in the 
night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs.” Van Hel- 
sing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously : — 

“The Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges — what you 
call the ‘Death’s-head Moth ?’ ” The patient went on with* 
out stopping. 

“Then he began to whisper : ‘Rats, rats, rats ! Hundreds, 
thousands, millions of them, and every one a life ; and dogs 
to eat them, and cats too. All lives ! all red blood, with 
years of life in it ; and not merely buzzing flies !’ I laughed 
at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs 
howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beck- 
oned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He 
raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any 
words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like 
the shape of a flame of fire ; and then He moved the mist to 
the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands 
of rats with their eyes blazing red — like His, only smaller. 
He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought 
He seemed to be saying: ‘All these lives will I give you, ay, 
and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you 
will fall down and worship me !’ And then a red cloud, like 
the colour of blood, seemed to close over my eyes ; and be- 
fore I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the 
*ash and saying to Him : ‘Come in, Lord and Master !’ The 


Dracula 


280 

rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the 
sash, though it was only open an inch wide — just as the 
Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack, 
and has stood before me in all her size and splendour.” 

His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the 
brandy again, and he continued ; but it seemed as though his 
memory had gone on working in the interval for his story 
was further advanced. I was about to call him back to the 
point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: “Let him go on. 
Do not interrupt him ; he cannot go back, and may-be could 
not proceed at all if once he lost the thread of his thought.” 
He proceeded : — 

“All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send 
me anything, not even a blow-fly, and when the moon got up 
I was pretty angry with him. When he slid in through the 
window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got 
mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked 
out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on 
as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one. He 
didn’t even smell the same as he went by me. I couldn’t 
hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. Harker had come 
into the room.” 

The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over 
standing behind him so that he could not see them, but where 
they could hear better. They were both silent, but the Pro- 
fessor started and quivered; his face, however, grew grim- 
mer and sterner still. Renfield went on without noticing: — 

“When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she 
wasn’t the same; it was like tea after the teapot had been 
watered.” Here we all moved, but no one said a word ; he 
went on: — 

“I didn’t know that she was here till she spoke; and she 
didn’t look the same. I don’t care for the pale people; I 
like them with lots of blood in them, and hers had all seemed 
to have run out. I didn’t think of it at the time ; but when 
she went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know 
that He had been taking the life out of her.” I could feel 
that the rest quivered, as I did ; but we remained otherwise 
still. “So when He came to-night I was ready for Plim. I 
saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard 
that madmen have unnatural strength ; and as I knew I was 
a madman — at times anyhow — I resolved to use my power. 
Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to 


Dr. Seward's Diary 281 

struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was going 
to win, for I didn’t mean Him to take any more of her life, 
till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength 
became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried 
to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There 
was a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the 
mist seemed to steal away under the door.” His voice was 
becoming fainter and his breath more stertorous. Van Heh 
sing stood up instinctively. 

“We know the worst now,” he said. “He is here, and we 
know his purpose. It may not be too late. Let us be armed 
— the same as we were the other night, but lose no time ; 
there is not an instant to spare.” There was no need to put 
our fear, nay our conviction, into words — we shared them 
in common. We all hurried and took from our rooms the 
same things that we had when we entered the Count’s house. 
The Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor 
he pointed to them significantly as he said : — 

“They never leave me ; and they shall not till this unhappy 
business is over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no com- 
mon enemy that we deal with. Alas! alas! that that dear 
Madam Mina should suffer!” He stopped; his voice was 
breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated 
in my own heart. 

Outside the Harker’s door we paused. Art and Quincey 
held back, and the latter said : — 

“Should we disturb her?” 

“We must,” said Van Helsing grimly. “If the door be 
locked, I shall break it in.” 

“May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break 
into a lady’s room !” Van Helsing said solemnly. 

“You are always right; but this is life and death. All 
chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not 
they are all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I 
turn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your 
shoulder down and shove ; and you too, my friends. Now !” 

He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not 
yield. We threw ourselves against it ; with a crash it burst 
open, and we almost fell headlong into the room. The Pro- 
fessor did actually fall, and I saw across him as he gathered 
himself up from hands and knees. What I saw appalled me. 
I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, and 
my heart seemed to stand still. 


282 


Dracula 


The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow 
blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside 
the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and 
breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the 
near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad fig- 
ure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in 
black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw 
we all recognised the Count — in every way, even to the scar 
on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Har- 
ker’s hands, keeping them away with her arms at full ten- 
sion; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, 
forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress 
was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down 
the man’s bare breast which was shown by his torn-open 
dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance 
to a child forcing a kitten’s nose into a saucer of milk to 
compel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count 
turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard de- 
scribed seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with dev- 
ilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose 
opened wide and quivered at the edge ; and the white sharp 
teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, 
champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, 
which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled 
from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time 
the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards 
him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The 
Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done out- 
side the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back 
he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The 
moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed 
across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up under 
Quincey’s match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, 
as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil 
from its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. 
Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, 
who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had 
given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it 
seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying 
day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and 
disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was 
accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks 
and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of blood 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 28? 

her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face 
her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the 
! red mark of the Count’s terrible grip, and from behind them 
came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream 
seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van 
Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over 
her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an in- 
stant despairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whis- 
| pered to me : — 

“Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire 
can produce. We can do nothing with poor Madam Mina 
for a few moments till she recovers herself; I must wake 
him !” He dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with 
it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while hold- 
ing her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that 
was heart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked 
out of the window. There was much moonshine; and as I 
looked I could see Quincey Morris run across the lawn and 
| hide himself in the shadow of a great yew tree. It puzzled 
me to think why he was doing this ; but at the instant I heard 
Harker’s quick exclamation as he woke to partial conscious- 
ness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well 
be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a 
few seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst 
upon him all at once, and he started up. His wife was 
aroused by the quick movement, and turned to him with her 
arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly, 
however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows 
together, held her hands before her face, and shuddered till 
the bed beneath her shook. 

“In God’s name what does this mean?” Harker cried out, 
“Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What has hap- 
pened? What is wrong? Mina, dear, what is it? What 
does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come to 
this!” and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands 
wildly together. “Good God help us ! help her ! oh, help 
her!” With a quick movement he jumped from bed, and 
began to pull on his clothes, — all the man in him awake at 
the need for instant exertion. “What has happened? Tell 
me all about it?” he cried without pausing. “Dr. Van Hel- 
sing, you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. 
It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for 
him!” His wife, through her terror and horror and distress* 


Dracula 


284 

saw some sure danger to him : instantly forgetting her own 
grief, she seized hold of him and cried out : — 

“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suf- 
fered enough to-night, God knows, without the dread of his 
harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these 
friends who will watch over you !” Her expression became 
frantic as she spoke ; and, he yielding to her, she pulled him 
down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely. 

Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Pro- 
fessor held up his little golden crucifix, and said with won- 
derful calmness : — 

“Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is 
close to you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for 
to-night; and we must be calm and take counsel together.” 
She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her 
husband’s breast. When she raised it, his white night-robe 
was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and 
where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. 
The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and 
whispered, amidst choking sobs : — 

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no 
more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his 
worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.” 
To this he spoke out resolutely : — 

“Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a 
word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it 
from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish 
me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any 
act or will of mine anything ever come between us !” He 
put out his arms and folded her to his breast ; and for a while 
she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed 
head, with eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nos- 
trils ; his mouth was set as steel. After a while her sobs be- 
came less frequent and more faint, and then he said to me, 
speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nerv- 
ous power to the utmost : — 

“And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I 
know the broad fact ; tell me all that has been.” I told him 
exactly what had happened, and he listened with seeming 
impassiveness ; but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed 
as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his 
wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to 
the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at tha* 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 285 

moment, to see, that, whilst the face of white set passion 
worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands ten- 
derly and lovingly stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had 
finished, Quincey and Godaiming knocked at the door. They 
entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked 
at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were 
to take advantage of their coming to divert if possible the 
thoughts of the unhappy husband and wife from each other 
and from themselves ; so on nodding acquiescence to him he 
asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord 
Godaiming answered : — 

“I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any 
of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been 

there, he had gone. He had, however ” He stopped 

suddenly looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed. 
Van Helsing said gravely : — 

“Go on friend Arthur. We want here no more conceal- 
ments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely !” So 
Art went on : — 

“He had been there, and though it could only have been 
for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the 
manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flick- 
ering amongst the white ashes ; the cylinders of your phono- 
graph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped 
the flames.” Here I interrupted. “Thank God there is the 
other copy in the safe !” His face lit for a moment, but fell 
again as he went on ; “I ran down stairs then, but could see 
no sign of him. I looked into Renfield’s room; but there 

was no trace there except !” Again he paused. “Go 

on,” said Harker hoarsely ; so he bowed his head and mois- 
tening his lips with his tongue, added : “except that the poor 
fellow is dead.” Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from 
one to the other of us she said solemnly : — 

“God’s will be done!” I could not but feel that Art was 
keeping back something ; but, as I took it that it was with a 
purpose, I said nothing. Van Helsing turned to Morris and 
asked : — 

“And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell ?” 

“A little,” he answered. “It may be much eventually, but 
at present I can’t say. I thought it well to know if possible 
where the Count would go when he left the house. I did 
not see him ; but I saw a bat rise from Renfield’s window, 
and flap westward. I expected to see him in some shape go 


Dracula 


286 

% 

back to Carfax ; but he evidently sought some other lair. He 
will not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the 
east, and the dawn is close. We must work to-morrow !” 

He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a 
space of perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and 
I could fancy that I could hear the sound of our hearts beat- 
ing; then Van Helsing said, placing his hand very tenderly 
on Mrs. Harker’s head : — 

“And now, Madam Mina — poor, dear, dear Madam Mina 
• — tell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not 
want that you be pained ; but it is need that we know all. For 
now more than ever has all work to be done quick and sharp, 
and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must end 
all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live 
and learn.” 

The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension 
of her nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and 
bent her head lower and lower still on his breast. Then she 
raised her head proudly, and held out one hand to Van Hel- 
sing who took it in his, and, after stooping and kissing it 
reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that 
of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her 
protectingly. After a pause in which she was evidently or- 
dering her thoughts, she began : — 

“I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly 
given me, but for a long time it did not act. I seemed to be- 
come more wakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began 
to crowd in upon my mind — all of them connected with 
death, and vampires; with blood, and pa ; n, and trouble/’ 
Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and 
said lovingly: “ Do not fret dear. You must be brave and 
strong, and help me through the horrible task. If you only 
knew what an effort it is to me to tell of this fearful thing 
at all, you would understand how much I need your help. 
Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work with 
my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set my- 
self to sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, 
for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not 
waked me, for he lay by my side when next I remember. 
There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had 
before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this ; you 
will find it in my diary which I shall show you later. I 
felt the same vague terror which had come to me before. 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 287 

md the same sense of some presence. I turned to wake 
Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed 
as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. 
I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great 
fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart 
sank within me: beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of 
the mist — or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, 
for it had entirely disappeared — stood a tall, thin man, all in 
black. I knew him at once from the description of the 
others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which 
the light fell in a thin white line ; the parted red lips, with the 
sharp white teeth showing between ; and the red eyes that I 
had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary’s 
Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead 
where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart 
stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was 
paralysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting, 
whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan : — 

“ ‘Silence ! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash 
his brains out before your very eyes.’ I was appalled and 
was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking 
smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding 
me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did 
so; ‘First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You 
may as well be quiet ; it is not the first time, or the second, 
that your veins have appeased my thirst !’ I was bewildered, 
and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I sup- 
pose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his 
touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me ! 
He placed his reeking lips upon my throat !” Her husband 
groaned again. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at 
him pityingly, as if he were the injured one, and went on : — 
“I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half 
swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not ; but 
it seemed that a long time must have passed before he took 
his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with 
the fresh blood !” The remembrance seemed for a while to 
overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down 
but for her husband’s sustaining arm. With a great effort 
.«he recovered herself and went on : — 

“Then he spoke to me mockingly, ‘And so you, like the 
others, would play your brains against mine. You would 
help these men toliunt me and frustrate me in my designs? 


288 


Dracula 


You know now, and they know in part already, and will 
know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They 
should have kept their energies for use closer to home. 
Whilst they played wits against me — against me who com- 
manded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for 
them, hundreds of years before they were born — I was coun- 
termining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now 
to me, flesh of my flesh ; blood of my blood ; kin of my kin ; 
my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on 
my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in 
turn ; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. 
But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. 
You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my 
call. When my brain says “Come !” to you, you shall cross 
land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!’ With 
that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails 
opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt 
out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and 
with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the 
wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of 
the — Oh my God ! my God ! what have I done ? What have 
I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in 
meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! 
Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril ; and in 
mercy pity those to whom she is dear!” Then she began 
to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution. 

As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky be- 
gan to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. 
Harker was still and quiet; but over his face, as the awful 
narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and 
deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak 
of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out 
against the whitening hair. 

We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of 
the unhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about 
taking action. 

Of this I am sure : the sun rises to-day on no more mis 
erable house in all the great round of its daily course. 


CHAPTER XXII 

JONATHAN HARKER’s JOURNAL 

3 October. — As I must do something or go mad, I write 
this diary. It is now six o’clock, and we are to meet in the 
study in half an hour and take something to eat ; for Dr. Van 
Helsing and Dr. Seward are agreed that if we do not eat we 
cannot work our best. Our best will be, God knows, re- 
quired to-day. I must keep writing at every chance, for I 
dare not stop to think. All, big and little, must go down ; 
perhaps at the end the little things may teach us most. The 
teaching, big or little, could not have landed Mina or me 
anywhere worse than we are to-day. However, we must 
trust and hope. Poor Mina told me just now, with the tears 
running down her dear cheeks, that it is in trouble and trial 
that our faith is tested — that we must keep on trusting ; and 
that God will aid us up to the end. The end ! oh my God ! 
what end? .... To work! To work! 

When Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward had come back 
from seeing poor Renfield, we went gravely into what was to 
be done. First, Dr. Seward told us that when he and Dr. 
Van Helsing had gone down to the room below’ they had 
found Renfield lying on the floor, all in a heap. His face 
was all bruised and crushed in, and the bones of the neck 
were broken. 

Dr. Seward asked the attendant who was on duty in the 
passage if he had heard anything. He said that he had been 
sitting down — he confessed to half dozing — when he heard 
loud voices in the room, and then Renfield had called out 
loudly several times, “God ! God ! God !” After that there 
was a sound of falling, and when he entered the room he 
found him lying on the floor, face down, just as the doctors 
had seen him. Van Helsing asked if he had heard “voices” 
or “a voice,” and he said he could not say ; that at first it had 
seemed to him as if there were two, but as there was no one 
in the room it could have been only one. He could swear to 
it, if required, that the word “God” was spoken by the 
patient. Dr. Seward said to us, when we were alone, that he 

(Mi) 289 


Dracula 


290 

did not wish to go into the matter; the question of an in- 
quest had to be considered, and it would never do to put 
forward the truth, as no one would believe it. As it was, 
he thought that on the attendant’s evidence he could give a 
certificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In 
case the coroner should demand it, there would be a formal 
inquest, necessarily to the same result. 

When the question began to be discussed as to what should 
be our next step, the very first thing we decided was that 
Mina should be in full confidence ; that nothing of any sort 
— no matter how painful — should be kept from her. She 
herself agreed as to its wisdom, and it was pitiful to see her 
so brave and yet so sorrowful, and in such a depth of despair. 
“There must be no concealment,” she said, “Alas ! we have 
had too much already. And besides there is nothing in all 
the world that can give me more pain than I have already 
endured — than I suffer now ! Whatever may happen, it 
must be of new hope or of new courage to me !” Van Hel- 
sing was, looking at her fixedly as she spoke, and said, sud- 
denly but quietly : — 

“But dear Madam Mina are you not afraid ; not for your- 
self, but for others from yourself, after what has happened ?” 
Her face grew set in its lines, but her eyes shone with the 
devotion of a martyr as she answered : — 

“Ah no ! for my mind is made up !” 

“To what?” he asked gently, whilst we were all very still; 
for each in our own way we had a sort of vague idea of what 
she meant. Her answer came with direct simplicity, as 
though she were simply stating a fact : — 

“Because if I find in myself — and I shall watch keenly for 
it — a sign of harm to any that I love, I shall die !” 

“You would not kill yourself?” he asked, hoarsely. 

“I would ; if there were no friend who loved me, who 
would save me such a pain, and so desperate an effort !” She 
looked at him meaningly as she spoke. He was sitting 
down ; but now he rose and came close to her and put his 
hand on her head as he said solemnly : 

“My child, there is such an one if it were for your good. 
For myself I could hold it in my account with God to find 
such an euthanasia for you, even at this moment if it were 
best. Nay, were it safe! But my child — ” for a moment 
he seemed choked, and a great sob rose in his throat; he 
gulped it down and went on : — 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 291 

“There are here some who would stand between you and 
death. You must not die. You must not die by any hand; 
but least of all by your own. Until the other, who has 
fouled your sweet life, is true dead you must not die ; for if 
he is still with the quick Un-Dead, your death would make 
you even as he is. No, you must live! You must struggle 
and strive to live, though death would seem a boon unspeak- 
able. You must fight Death himself, though he come to you 
in pain or in joy; by the day, or the night; in safety or in 
peril ! On your living soul I charge you that you do not die 
— nay nor think of death — till this great evil be past.” The 
poor dear grew white as death, and shook and shivered, as I 
have seen a quicksand shake and shiver at the incoming of 
the tide. We were all silent; we could do nothing. At 
length she grew more calm and turning to him said, sweetly, 
but oh ! so sorrowfully, as she held out her hand ; — 

“I promise you, my dear friend, that if God will let me 
live, I shall strive to do so; till, if it may be in His good 
time, this horror may have passed away from me.” She was 
so good and brave that we all felt that our hearts were 
strengthened to work and endure for her, and we began to 
discuss what we were to do. I told her that she was to have 
all the papers in the safe, and all the papers or diaries and 
phonographs we might hereafter use ; and was to keep the 
record" as she had done before. She was pleased with the 
prospect of anything to do — if “pleased” could be used in 
connection with so grim an interest. 

As usual Van Helsing had thought ahead of everyone else, 
and was prepared with an exact ordering of our work. 

“It is perhaps well” he said “that at our meeting after our 
visit to Carfax we decided not to do anything with the earth- 
boxes that lay there. Had we done so, the Count must have 
guessed our purpose, and would doubtless have taken 
measures in advance to frustrate such an effort with regard 
to the others ; but now he does not know our intentions. Nay 
more, in all probability, he does not know that such a power 
exists to us as can sterilise his lairs, so that he cannot use 
them as of old. We are now so much further advanced in 
our knowledge as to their disposition, that, when we have 
examined the house in Piccadilly, we may track the very last 
of them. To-day, then, is ours ; and in it rests our hope. The 
sun that rose on our sorrow this morning guards us in its 
course Until it sets to-night, that monster must retain what- 


Dracula 


292 

ever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations 
of his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor dis- 
appear through cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go 
through a door-way, he must open the door like a mortal. 
And so we have this day to hunt out all his lairs and sterilise 
them. So we shall, if we have not yet catch him and destroy 
him, drive him to bay in some place where the catching and 
the destroying shall be, in time, sure.” Here I started up 
for I could not contain myself at the thought that the minutes 
and seconds so preciously laden with Mina’s life and happi- 
ness were flying from us, since whilst we talked action was 
impossible. But Van Helsing held up his hand warningly. 
“Nay, friend Jonathan,” he said, “in this, the quickest way 
home is the longest way, so your proverb say. We shall all act 
and act with desperate quick, when the time has come. But 
think, in all probable the key of the situation is in that house 
in Piccadilly. The Count may have many houses which he 
has bought. Of them he will have deeds of purchase, keys 
and other things. He will have paper that he write on ; he 
will have his book of cheques. There are many belongings 
that he must have somewhere ; why not in this place so cen- 
tral, so quiet, where he come and go by the front or the back 
at all hour, when in the very vast of the traffic there is none 
to notice. We shall go there and search that house; and 
when we learn what it holds, then we do what our friend 
Arthur call, in his phrases of hunt 'stop the earths’ and so we 
run down our old fox — so? is it not?” 

“Then let us come at once,” I cried, “we are wasting the 
precious, precious time !” The Professor did not move, but 
simply said : — 

“And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly ?” 

“Any way !” I cried. “We shall break in if need be.” 

“And your police ; where will they be, and what will they 
say ?” 

I was staggered ; but I knew that if he wished to delay he 
had a good reason for it. So I said, as quietly as I could : — 

“Don’t wait more than need be ; you know, I am sure, what 
torture I am in.” 

“Ah, my child, that I do ; and indeed there is no wish of 
me to add to your anguish. But just think, what can we do, 
until all the world be at movement. Then will come our time. 
I have thought and thought, and it seems to me that the 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 293 

simplest way is the best of all. Now we wish to get into the 
house, but we have no key ; is it not so ?” I nodded. 

“Now suppose that you were, in truth, the owner of that 
house, and could not still get it ; and think there was to you 
no conscience of the housebreaker, what would you do ?” 

“I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work 
to pick the lock for me.” 

‘‘And your police, they would interfere, would they not?” 

“Oh, no! not if they knew the man was properly em- 
ployed.” 

“Then,” he looked at me keenly as he spoke, “all that is 
in doubt is the conscience of the employer, and the belief of 
your policemen as to whether or no that employer has a good 
conscience or a bad one. Your police must indeed be zealous 
men and clever — oh so clever! — in reading the heart, that 
they trouble themselves in such matter. No, no, my friend 
Jonathan, you go take the lock off a hundred empty house 
in this your London, or of any city in the world ; and if you 
do it as such things are rightly done, and at the time such 
things are rightly done, no one will interfere. I have read of 
a gentleman who owned a so fine house in your London, and 
when he went for months of summer to Switzerland and lock 
up his house, some burglar came and broke window at back 
and got in. Then he went and made open the shutters in 
front and walk out and in through the door, before the very 
eyes of the police. Then he have an auction in that house, 
and advertise it, and put up big; notice; and when the day 
come he sell off by a great auctioneer all the goods of that 
otl^er man who own them. Then he go to a builder, and he 
sell him that house, making an agreement that he pull it 
down and take all away within a certain time. And your po- 
lice and other authority help him all they can. And when 
that owner come back from his holiday in Switzerland he 
find only an empty hole where his house had been. This was 
all done en regie ; and in our work we shall be en regie too. 
We shall not go so early that the policemen who have then 
little to think of, shall deem it strange ; but we shall go after 
ten o'clock, when there are many about, and when such 
things would be done were we indeed owners of the house.” 

I could not but see how right he was and the terrible 
despair of Mina’s face became relaxed a thought ; there was 
hope in such good counsel. Van Helsing went on : — 

“When once within that house we may find more clues ; at 


Dracula 


294 

any rate some of us can remain there whilst the rest find the 
other places where there be more earth-boxes — at Bermond- 
sey and Mile End.” 

Lord Godaiming stood up. “I can be of some use here,” 
he said. “I shall wire to my people to have horses and car- 
riages where they will be most convenient.” 

“Look here, old fellow,” said Morris, “it is a capital idea 
to have all ready in case we want to go horsebacking; but 
don’t you think that one of your snappy carriages with its 
heraldic adornments in a byway of Walworth or Mile End 
would attract too much attention for our purposes ? It seems 
to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east ; 
and even leave them somewhere near the neighborhood we 
are going to.” 

“Friend Quincey is right!” said the Professor. “His head 
is what you call in plane with the horizon. It is a difficult 
thing that we go to do, and we do not want no peoples to 
watch us if so it may.” 

Mina took a growing interest in everything and I was 
rejoiced to see that the exigency of affairs was helping her to 
forget for a time the terrible experience of the night. She 
was very, very pale — almost ghastly, and so thin that 
her lips were drawn away, showing her teeth in somewhat of 
prominence. I did not mention this last, lest it should give 
her needless pain ; but it made my blood run cold in my veins 
to think of what had occurred with poor Lucy when the 
Count had sucked her blood. As yet there was no sign of 
the teeth growing sharper ; but the time as yet was short, and 
there was time for fear. 

When we came to the discussion of the sequence of our 
efforts and of the disposition of our forces, there were new 
sources of doubt. It was finally agreed that before starting 
for Piccadilly we should destroy the Count’s lair close at 
hand. In case he should find it out too soon, we should thus 
be still ahead of him in our work of destruction; and his 
presence in his purely material shape, and at his weakest, 
might give us some new clue. 

As to the disposal of forces, it was suggested by the Pro- 
fessor that, after our visit to Carfax, we should all enter the 
house in Piccadilly ; that the two doctors and I should re- 
main there, whilst Lord Godaiming and Quincey found the 
lairs at Walworth and Mile End and destroyed them. It was 
possible, if not likely, the Professor urged, that the Count 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 295 

might appear in Piccadilly during the day, and that if so we 
might be able to cope with him then and there. At any 
rate, we might be able to follow him in force. To this plan 
I strenuously objected, and so far as my going was con- 
cerned, for I said that I intended to stay and protect Mina. 

I thought that my mind was made up on the subject; but 
Mina would not listen to my objection. She said that there 
might be some law matter in which I could be useful; that 
amongst the Count’s papers might be some clue which I 
could understand out of my experience in Transylvania ; and 
that, as it was, all the strength we could muster was required 
to cope with the Count’s extraordinary power. I had to give 
in, for Mina’s resolution was fixed ; she said that it was the 
last hope for her that we should all work together. “As for 
me,” she said, “I have no fear. Things have been as bad as 
they can be ; and whatever may happen must have in it some 
element of hope or comfort. Go, my husband ! God can, if 
He wishes it, guard me as well alone as with any one pres- 
ent.” So I started up crying out : “Then in God’s name let 
us come at once, for we are losing time. The Count may 
come to Piccadilly earlier than we think.” 

“Not so!” said Van Helsing, holding up his hand. 

“But why?” I asked. 

“Do you forget,” he said, with actually a smile, “that last 
night he banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?” 

Did I forget! shall I ever — can I ever! Can any of us 
ever forget that terrible scene ! Mina struggled hard to keep 
her brave countenance; but the pain overmastered her and 
she put her hands before her face, and shuddered whilst she 
moaned. Van Helsing had not intended to recall her fright- 
ful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part 
in the affair in his intellectual effort. When it struck him 
what he said, he was horrified at his thoughtlessness and 
tried to comfort her. “Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, “dear, 
dear Madam Mina, alas ! that I of all who so reverence you 
should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old 
lips of mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so , but 
you will forget it, will you not ? He bent low beside her as 
he spoke; she took his hand, and looking at him through 
her tears, said hoarsely 

“No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember ; and 
with it l have so much in memory of you that is sweet, that I 
take it all together. Now, you^ must all be going soon. 


296 Dracula 

Breakfast is ready, and we must all eat that we may be 
strong.” 

Breakfast was a strange meal to us all. We tried to be 
cheerful and encourage each other, and Mina was the bright- 
est and most cheerful of us. When it was over. Van Helsing 
stood up and said : — 

“Now, my dear friends, we go forth to our terrible enter- 
prise. Are we all armed, as we were on that night. when first 
we visited our enemy’s lair ; armed against ghostly as well as 
carnal attack ?” We all assured him. “Then it is well. Now 
Madam Mina, you are in any case quite safe here until the 

sunset; and before then we shall return — if We shall 

return! But before we go let me see you armed against 
personal attack. I have myself, since you came down, pre- 
pared your chamber by the placing of things of which we 
know, so that He may not enter. Now let me guard yourself. 
On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in the 
name of the Father, the Son, and ” 

There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts 
to hear. As he had placed the Wafer on Mina’s forehead, it 
had seared it — had burned into the flesh as though it had 
been a piece of white-hot metal. My poor darling’s brain had 
told her the significance of the fact as quickly as her nerves 
received the pain of it ; and the two so overwhelmed her that 
her overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful 
scream. But the words to her thought came quickly; the 
echo of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when 
there came the reaction, and she sank on her knees on the 
floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling her beautiful hair 
over her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she wailed 
out : — 

“Unclean ! Unclean ! Even the Almighty shuns my pol- 
luted flesh ! I must bear this mark of shame upon my fore- 
head until the Judgment Day.” They all paused. I had 
thrown myself beside her in an agony of helpless grief, and 
putting my arms around held her tight. For a few minutes 
our sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around 
11s turned away their eyes that ran tears silently. Then Van 
Helsing turned and said gravely ; so gravely that I could not 
help feeling that he was in some way inspired, and was stat- 
ing things outside himself : — 

“It may be that you may have to bear that mark till God 
himself see fit, as He most surely shall, on the Judgment 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 297 

Day, to redress all wrongs of the earth and of His children 
that He has placed thereon. And oh, Madam Mina, my dear, 
my dear, may we who love you be there to see, when that 
red scar, the sign of God’s knowledge of what has been, shall 
pass away and leave your forehead as pure as the heart we 
know. For so surely as we live, that scar shall pass away 
when God sees right to lift the burden that is hard upon us. 
Till then we bear our Cross, as His Son did in obedience to 
His Will. It may be that we are chosen instruments of His 
good pleasure, and that we ascend to His bidding as that 
other through stripes and shame ; through tears and blood ; 
through doubts and fears, and all that makes the difference 
between God and man.” 

There was hope in his words, and comfort ; and they made 
for resignation. Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously 
we each took one of the old man’s hands and bent over and 
kissed it. Then without a word we all knelt down together, 
and, all holding hands, swore to be true to each other. We 
men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the 
head of her whom, each in his own way, we loved ; and we 
prayed for help and guidance in the terrible task which lay 
before us. 

It was then time to start. So I said farewell to Mina, a 
parting which neither of us shall forget to our dying day; 
and we set out. 

To one thing I have made up my mind : if we find out that 
Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into 
that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus 
that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their 
hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest 
love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks. 

We entered Carfax without trouble and found all things 
the same as on the first occasion. It was hard to believe 
that amongst so prosaic surroundings of neglect and dust 
and decay there was any ground for such fear as already we 
knew. Had not our minds been made up, and had there not 
been terrible memories to spur us on, we could hardly have 
proceeded with our task. We found no papers, or any sign 
of use in the house ; and in the old chapel the great boxes 
looked just as we had seen them last. Dr. Van Helsing said 
to us solemnly as we stood before them : — 

“And now, my friends, we have a duty here to do. We 
nust sterilise this earth, so sacred of holy memories, that he 


Dracula 


298 

has brought from a far distant land for such fell use. He 
has chosen this earth because it has been holy. Thus we 
defeat him with his own weapon, for we make it more holy 
still. It was sanctified to such use of man, now we sanctify 
it to God.” As he spoke he took from his bag a screw- 
driver and a wrench, and very soon the top of one of the 
cases was thrown open. The earth smelled musty and close ; 
but we did not somehow seem to mind, for our attention was 
concentrated on the Professor. Taking from his box a piece 
of the Sacred Wafer he laid it reverently on the earth, and 
then shutting down the lid began to screw it home, we aiding 
him as he worked. 

One by one we treated in the same way each of the great 
boxes, and left them as we had found them to all appearance ; 
but in each was a portion of the Host. 

When we closed the door behind us, the Professor said 
solemnly : — 

“So much is already done. If it may be that with all the 
others we can be so successful, then the sunset of this even- 
ing may shine on Madam Mina’s forehead all white as ivory 
and with no stain !” 

As we passed across the lawn on our way to the station to 
catch our train we could see the front of the asylum. I 
looked eagefly, and in the window of my own room saw 
Mina. I waved my hand to her, and nodded to tell that our 
work there was successfully accomplished. She nodded in 
reply to show that she understood. The last I saw, she was 
waving her hand in farewell. It was with a heavy heart that 
we sought the station and just caught the train, which was 
steaming in as we reached the platform. 

I have written this in the train. 

Piccadilly, 12:30 o'clock— Just before we reached Fen- 
church Street Lord Godaiming said to me : — 

“Quincey and I will find a locksmith. You had better not 
come with us in case there should be any difficulty ; for under 
the circumstances it wouldn’t seem so bad for us to break 
into an empty house. But you are a solicitor and the Incor- 
porated Law Society might tell you that you should have 
known better.” I demurred as to my not sharing any danger 
even of odium, but he went on : “Besides, it will attract less 
attention if there are not too many of us. My title will make 
it all right with the locksmith, and with any policeman that 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 299 

may come along. You had better go with Tack and the 
Professor and stay in the Green Park, somewhere in sight of 
the house; and when you see the door opened and the smith 
has gone away, do you all come across. We shall be on the 
look out for you, and shall let you in.” 

The advice is good!” said Van Helsing, so we said no 
more. Godalming and Morris hurried off in a cab, we fol- 
lowing in another. At the corner of Arlington Street our 
contingent got out and strolled into the Green Park. My 
heart beat as I saw the house on which so much of our hope 
was centered, looming up grim and silent in its deserted con- 
dition amongst its more lively and spruce-looking neigh- 
bours. We sat down on a bench within good view, and be- 
gan to smoke cigars so as to attract as little attention as pos- 
sible. The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet as we 
waited for the coming of the others. 

At length we saw a four-wheeler drive up. Out of it, in 
leisurely fashion, got Lord Godaiming and Morris ; and 
down from the box descended a thick-set working man with 
his rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paid the cabman, 
who touched his hat and drove away. Together the two 
ascended the steps, and Lord Godaiming pointed out what he 
wanted done. The workman took off his coat leisurely and 
hung it on one of the spikes of the rail, saying something to 
a policeman who just then sauntered along. The policeman 
nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling down placed his 
bag beside him. After searching through it, he took out a 
selection of tools which he produced to lay beside him in 
orderly fashion. Then he stood up, looked into the key- 
hole, blew into it, and, turning to his employers, made some 
remark. Lord Godaiming smiled, and the man lifted a good 
sized bunch of keys ; selecting one of them, he began to 
probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumbling 
about for a bit he tried a second, and then a third. All at 
once the door opened under a slight push from him, and he 
and the two others entered the hall. We sat still ; my own 
cigar burnt furiously, but Van Helsing’s went cold alto- 
gether. We waited patiently as we saw the workman come 
out and bring in his bag. Then he held the door partly open, 
steadying it with his knees, whilst he fitted a key to the lock. 
This he finally handed to Lord Godaiming, who took out his 
purse and gave him something. The man touched his hat. 


Dracula 


3 °° 

took his bag, put on his coat and departed ; not a soul took 
the slightest notice of the whole transaction. 

When the man had fairly gone, we three crossed the street 
and knocked at the door. It was immediately opened by 
Quincey Morris, beside whom stood Lord Godaiming light- 
ing a cigar. 

“The place smells so vilely,” said the latter as we came in. 
It did indeed smell vilely — like the old chapel at Carfax — and 
with our previous experience it was plain to us that the 
Count had been using the place pretty freely. We moved to 
explore the house, all keeping together in case of attack ; for 
we knew we had a strong and wily enemy to deal with, and 
as yet we did not know whether the Count might not be in 
the house. In the dining-room, which lay at the back of the 
hall, we found eight boxes of earth. Eight boxes only out 
of the nine which we sought ! Our work was not over, and 
would never be until we should have found the missing box. 
First we opened the shutters of the window which looked 
out across a narrow stone-flagged yard at the blank face of a 
stable, pointed to look like the front of a miniature house. 
There were no windows in it, so we were not afraid of being 
overlooked. We did not lose any time in examining the 
chests. With the tools which we had brought with us we 
opened them, one by one, and treated them as we had treated 
those others in the old chapel. It was evident to us that the 
Count was not at present in the house, and we proceeded to 
search for any of his effects. 

After a cursory glance at the rest of the rooms, from 
basement to attic, we came to the conclusion that the dining- 
room contained any effects which might belong to the Count ; 
and so we proceeded to minutely examine them. They lay 
in a sort of orderly disorder on the great dining-room table. 
There were title deeds of the Piccadilly house in a great 
bundle ; deeds of th^. purchase of the houses at Mile End and 
Bermondsey; notepaper, envelopes, and pens and ink. All 
were covered up in thin wrapping paper to keep them from 
the dust. There were also a clothes brush, a brush and 
comb, and a jug and basin — the latter containing dirty water 
which was reddened as if with blood. Last of all was a 
little heap of keys of all sorts and sizes, probably those be- 
longing to the other houses. When we had examined this 
last find, Lord Godaiming and Quincey Morris taking ac- 
curate notes of the various addresses of the houses in the 


Jonathan Harker’s Journal 301 

East and the South, took with them the keys in a great 
bunch, and set out to destroy the boxes in these places. The 
rest of us are, with what patience we can, waiting their re- 
turn — or the coming of the Count. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

dr. seward's diary 

3 October . — The time seemed terribly long whilst we were 
waiting for the coming of Godaiming and Quincey Morris. 
The Professor tried to keep our minds active by using them 
all the time. I could see his beneficent purpose, by the side 
glances which he threw from time to time at Harker. The 
poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to 
see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with 
strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown 
hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white 
hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief- 
written lines of his face. His energy is still intact ; in fact, he 
is like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if 
all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period ; he 
will then, in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life. ; 
Poor fellow, I thought my own trouble was bad enough, but 

his ! The Professor knows this well enough, and is 

doing his best to keep his mind active. What he has been 
saying was, under the circumstances, of absorbing interest. 
So well as I can remember, here it is : — 

“I have studied, over and over again since they came into 
my hands, all the papers relating to this monster; and the 
more I have studied, the greater seems the necessity to 
utterly stamp him out. All through there are signs of his 
advance ; not only of his power, but of his knowledge of it. 
As I learned from the researches of my friend Arminius of 
Buda-Pesth, he was in life a most wonderful man. Soldier, 
statesman, and alchemist — which latter was the highest de- 
velopment of the science-knowledge of his time. He had a 
mighty brain, a learning beyond compare, and a heart that 
knew no fear and no remorse. He dared even to attend the 
Scholomance, and there was no branch of knowledge of his 
time that he did not essay. Well, in him the brain powers 
survived the physical death ; though it would seem that mem- 
ory was not all complete. In some faculties of mind he has I 
been, and is, only a child; but he is growing, and some 


*02 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 303 

things that were childish at the first are now of man’s 
stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well; and if it 
had not been that we have crossed his path he would be yet — 
he may be yet if we fail — the father or furtherer of a new 
order of beings, whose road must lead through Death, not 
Life.” 

Harker groaned and said, '‘And this is all arrayed against 
my darling ! But how is he experimenting ? The knowledge 
may help us to defeat him !” 

“He has all along, since his coming, been trying his 
power, slowly but surely ; that big child-brain of his is work- 
ing. Well for us, it is, as yet, a child-brain ; for had he 
dared, at the first, to attempt certain things he would long 
ago have been beyond our power. However, he means to 
succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford 
! co wait and to go slow. Festina lente may well be his motto.” 

“I fail to understand,” said Harker wearily. “Oh, do be 
more plain to me ! Perhaps grief and trouble are dulling my 
brain.” The Professor laid his hand tenderly on his shoulder 
as he spoke : — 

“Ah, my child, I will be plain. Do you not see how, of 
late, this monster has been creeping into knowledge experi- 
mentally. How he has been making use of the zoophagous 
patient to effect his entry into friend John’s home; for your 
Vampire, though in all afterwards he can come when and 
how he will, must at the first make entry only when asked 
thereto by an inmate. But these are not his most important 
experiments. Do we not see how at the first all these so 
great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but 
that must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of 
his was growing, and he began to consider whether he 
might not himself move the box. So he began to help ; and 
then, when he found that this be all-right, he try to move 
them all alone. And so he progress, and he scatter these 
graves of him ; and none but he know where they are hidden. 
He may have intend to bury them deep in the ground. So 
that he only use them in the night, or at such time as he can 
change his form, they do him equal well ; and none may 
know these are his hiding place ! But, my child, do not 
despair; this knowledge come to him just too late! Already 
all of his lairs but one be sterilise as for him ; and before the 
sunset this shall be so. Then he have no place where he 
can move and hide. I delayed this morning that so we might 


Dracula 


3°4 

be sure. Is there not more at stake for us than for him? 
Then why we not be even more careful than him? By my 
clock it is one hour, and already, if all be well, friend Arthur 
and Quincey are on their way to us. To-day is our day, and 
we must go sure, if slow, and lose no chance. See ! there are 
five of us when those absent ones return.” 

Whilst he was speaking we were startled by a knock at the 
hall door, the double postman’s knock of the telegraph boy. 
We all moved out to the hall with one impulse, and Van 
Helsing, holding up his hand to us to keep silence, stepped 
to the door and opened it. The boy handed in a despatch. 
The Professor closed the door again and, after looking at the 
direction, opened it and read aloud. 

"‘Look out for D. He has just now, 12.45, come from 
Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems 
to be going the round and may want to see you : Mina.” 

There was a pause, broken by Jonathan Harker’s voice : — • 

“Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet !” Van Helsing 
turned to him quickly and said : — 

“God will act in His own way and time. Do not fear, and 
do not rejoice as yet; for what we wish for at the moment 
may be our undoings.” 

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to 
wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell 
my soul to do it!” 

“Oh hush, hush, my child !” said Van Helsing, “God does 
not purchase souls in this wise; and the Devil, though he 
may purchase, does not keep faith. But God is merciful and 
just, and knows your pain and your devotion to that dear 
Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain would be doubled, 
did she but hear your wild words. Do not fear any of us , 
we are all devoted to this cause, and to-day shall see the end. 
The time is coming for action ; to-day this Vampire is limit 
to the powers of man, and till sunset he may not change. 
It will take him time to arrive here — see, it is twenty min- 
utes past one — and there are yet some times before he can 
hither come, be he never so quick. What we must hope for 
is that my Lord Arthur and Quincey arrive first.” 

About half an hour after we had received Mrs. Harker’s 
telegram, there came a quiet, resolute knock at the hall door. 
It was just an ordinary knock, such as is given hourly by 
thousands of gentlemen, but it made the Professor’s heart 
and mine loudly. We looked at each other, and to 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 305 

gether moved out into the hall; we each held ready to use 
our various armaments— the spiritual in the left hand, the 
mortal in the right. Van Helsing pulled back the latch, and, 
holding the door half open, stood back, having both hands 
ready for action. The gladness of our hearts must have 
shown upon our faces when on the step, close to the door, we 
saw Lord Godaiming and Quincey Morris. They came 
quickly in and closed the door behind them, the former say- 
in ?/ m oved along the hall 

It is all right. We found both places; six boxes in each, 
and we destroyed them all !” 

“Destroyed ?” asked the Professor. 

“For him!” We were silent for a minute, and then 
Quincey said : — 

There s nothing to do but to wait here. If, however, he 
doesn't turn up by five o'clock, we must start off ; for it won’t 
do to leave Mrs. Harker alone after sunset.” 

“He will be here before long now,” said Van Helsing, who 
had been consulting his pocket-book. “Nota bene , in 
Madam’s telegram he went south from Carfax, that means 
he went to cross the river, and he could only do so at slack 
of tide, which should be something before one o’clock. That 
he went south has a meaning for us. He is as yet only 
suspicious ; and he went from Carfax first to the place where 
he would suspect interference least. You must have been 
at Bermondsey only a short time before him. That he is not 
here already shows that he went to Mile End next. This 
took him some time; for he would then have to be carried 
over the river in some way. Believe me, my friends, we shall 
not have long to wait now. We should have ready some 
plan of attack, so that we may throw away no chance. Hush, 
there is no time now. Have all your arms ! Be ready !” He 
held up a warning hand as he spoke, for we all could hear 
a key softly inserted in the lock of the hall door. 

I could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in 
which a dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting 
parties and adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey 
Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of ac- 
tion, and Arthur and I had been accustomed to obey him im- 
plicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed instinct- 
ively. With a swift glance around the room, he at once laid 
out our plan of attack, and, without speaking a word, with a 
gesture, placed us each in position. Van Helsing, Harker 
(2g) > 


Dracula 


3°6 

and I were just behind the door, so that when it was opened 
the Professor could guard it whilst we two stepped between 
the incomer and the door. Godaiming behind and Quincey 
in front stood just out of sight ready to move in front of the 
window. We waited in a suspense that made the seconds 
pass with nightmare slowness. The slow, careful steps came 
along the*hall; the Count was evidently prepared for some 
surprise — at least he feared it. 

Suddenly with a single bound he leaped into the room, 
winning a way past us before any of us could raise a hand 
to stay him. There was something so panther-like in the 
movement — something so unhuman, that it seemed to sober 
us all from the shock of his coming. The first to act was 
Harker, who, with a quick movement, threw himself before 
the door leading into the room in the front of the house. As 
the Count saw us, a horrible sort of snarl passed over his face, 
showing the eye-teeth long and pointed ; but the evil smile 
as quickly passed into a cold stare of lion-like disdain. His 
expression again changed, as, with a single impulse, we all 
advanced upon him. It was a pity that we had not some 
better organised plan of attack, for even at the moment 1 
wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know 
whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything. Harker 
evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great 
Kukri knife, and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The 
blow was a powerful one ; only the diabolical quickness of the 
Count's leap back saved him. A second less and the trench- 
ant blade had shorne through his heart. As it was, the point 
just cut the cloth of his coat, making a wide gap whence a 
bundle of bank-notes and a stream of gold fell out. The ex- 
pression of the Count’s face was so hellish, that for a moment 
I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible 
knife aloft again for another stroke. Instinctively I moved 
forward with a protective impulse, holding the Crucifix and 
Wafer in my left-hand. I felt a mighty power fly along mv 
arm; and it was without surprise I saw that the monster 
cower back before a similar movement made spontaneously 
by each one of us. It would be impossible to describe the 
expression of hate and baffled malignity — of anger and hell- 
ish rage — which came over the Count’s face. His waxen 
hue became greenish-yellow by the contrast of his burning 
eyes, and the red scar on the forehead showed on the pallid 
*»in like a palpitating wound. The next instant, with a 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 


2°7 


sinuous dive he swept under Harker’s arm, ere his blow 
could fall, and, grasping a handful of the money from the 
floor, dashed across the room, threw himself at the window. 
Amid the crash and glitter of the falling glass, he tumbled 
into the flagged area below. Through the sound of the 
shivering glass I could hear the “ting” of the gold, as some 
of the sovereigns fell on the flagging. 

We ran over and saw him spring unhurt from tile ground. 
He, rushing up the steps, crossed the flagged yard, and 
pushed open the stable door. There he turned and spoke 
to us : — 

“You think to baffle me, you with your pale faces all 

in a row, like sheep in a butcher’s. You shall be sorry yet, 
each one of you! You think you have left me without a 
place to rest ; but I have more. My revenge is just begun ! 
I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Your 
girls that you all love are mine already; and through them 
you and others shall yet be mine — my creatures, to do my 
bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah !” 
With a contemptuous sneer, he passed quickly through the 
door, and we heard the rusty bolt creak as he fastened it be- 
hind him. A door beyond opened and shut. The first of 
us to speak was the Professor, as, realising the difficulty of 
following him through the stable, we moved toward the 
hall. 

“We have learnt something — much ! Notwithstanding his 
brave words, he fears us ; he fear time, he fear want ! For if 
not, why he hurry so ? His very tone betray him, or my ears 
deceive. Why take that money? You follow quick. You 
are hunters of wild beast, and understand it so. For me, 1 
make sure that nothing here may be of use to him, if so that 
he return.” As he spoke he put the money remaining into 
his pocket ; took the title-deeds in the bundle as Harker had 
left them; and swept the remaining things into the open 
fireplace, where he set fire to them with a match. 

Godaiming and Morris had rushed out into the yard, and 
Harker had lowered himself from the window to follow the 
Count. He had, however, bolted the stable door ; and by 
the time they had forced it open there was no sign of him. 
Van Helsing and I tried to make inquiry at the back ot the 
house ; but the mews was deserted and no one had seen him 

de ?*was now late in the afternoon, and sunset was not faf 


Dracula 


308 

off. We had to recognise that our game was up ; with heavy 
hearts we agreed with the Professor when he said : — 

“Let us go back to Madam Mina — poor, poor dear Madam 
Mina. All we can do just now is done ; and we can there, at 
least, protect her. But we need not despair. There is but 
one more earth-box, and we must try to find it ; when that is 
done all may yet be well.” I could see that he spoke as 
bravely as he could to comfort Harker. The poor fellow 
was quite broken down; now and again he gave a low 
groan which he could not suppress — he was thinking of 
his wife. 

With sad hearts we came back to my house, where we 
found Mrs. Harker waiting us, with an appearance of cheer- 
fulness which did honour to her bravery and unselfishness. 
When she saw our faces, her own became as pale as death ; 
for a second or two her eyes were closed as if she were in 
secret prayer ; and then she said cheerfully : — 

“I can never thank you all enough. Oh, my poor darling !” 
as she spoke, she took her husband’s grey head in her hands 
and kissed it — “Lay your poor head here and rest it. All 
will yet be well, dear ! God will protect us if he so will it in 
His good intent.” The poor fellow only groaned. There 
was no place for words in his sublime misery. 

We had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I 
think it cheered us all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the 
mere animal heat of food to hungry people — for none of us 
had eaten anything since breakfast — or the sense of com- 
panionship may have helped us ; but anyhow we were all less 
miserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without 
hope. True to our promise, we told Mrs. Harker everything 
which had passed; and although she grew snowy white at 
times when danger had seemed to threaten her husband, and 
red at others when his devotion to her was manifested, she 
listened bravely and with calmness. When we came to the 
part where Harker had rushed at the Count so recklessly, she 
clung to her husband’s arm, and held it tight as though her 
clinging could protect him from any harm that might come. 
She said nothing, however, till the narration was all done, 
and matters had been brought right up to the present time. 
Then without letting go her husband’s hand she stood up 
amongst us and spoke. Oh that I could give any idea of 
the scene; of that sweet, sweet, good, good woman in all the 
radiant beauty of her youth and animation, with the red 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 309 

scar on her forehead, of which she was conscious, and which 
we saw with grinding of our teeth — remembering whence 
and how it came ; her loving kindness against our grim hate ; 
her tender faith against all our fears and doubting ; and we, 
knowing that so far as symbols went, she with all her good- 
ness and purity and faith, was outcast from God. 

“Jonathan,” she said, and the word sounded like music on 
her lips it was so full of love and tenderness, “Jonathan dear, 
and you all my true, true friends, I want you to bear some- 
thing in mind through all this dreadful time. I know that 
you must fight — that you must destroy even as you destroyed 
the false Lucy so that the true Lucy might live hereafter; 
but it is not a work of hate. That poor soul who has 
wrought all this misery is the saddest case oi all. Just think 
what will be his joy when he, too, is destroyed in his worser 
part that his better part may have spiritual immortality. You 
must be pitiful to him, too, though it may not hold your 
hands from his destruction.” 

As she spoke I could see her husband's face darken and 
draw together, as though the passion in him were shriveling 
his being to its core. Instinctively the clasp on his wife’s 
hand grew closer, till his knuckles looked white. She did 
not flinch from the pain which I knew she must have suf- 
fered, but looked at him with eyes that were more appealing 
than ever. As she stopped speaking he leaped to his feet, 
almost tearing his hand from hers as he spoke : — 

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to 
destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If 
beyond it I could send his soul for ever and ever to burning 
hell I would do it !” 

“Oh, hush! oh, hush! in the name of the good God. 
Don’t say such things, Jonathan, my husband ; or you will 
crush me with fear and horror. Just think, my dear— I have 
been thinking all this long, long day of it— that. . .perhaps. . . 
some day. . .1, too, may need such pity ; and that some other 
like you — and with equal cause for anger — may deny it tG 
me ! Oh, my husband ! my husband, indeed I would have 
spared you such a thought had there been another way; 
but I pray that God may not have treasured your wild words, 
except as the heart-broken wail of a very loving and sorely 
stricken man. Oh God, let these poor white hairs go in 
evidence of what he has suffered, who all his life has done 
no wrong, and on whom so many sorrows have come.” 


Dracula 


3 10 

We men were all in tears now. There was no resisting 
them, and we wept openly. She wept, too, to see that hei 
sweeter counsels had prevailed. Her husband flung himself 
on his knees beside her, and putting his arms round her, hid 
his face in the folds of her dress. Van Helsing beckoned to 
us and we stole out of the room, leaving the two loving 
hearts alone with their God. 

Before they retired the Professor fixed up the room 
against any coming of the Vampire, and assured Mrs. Har- 
ker that she might rest in peace. She tried to school herself 
to the belief, and, manifestly for her husband’s sake, tried 
to seem content. It was a brave struggle ; and was, I think 
and believe, not without its reward. Van Helsing had placed 
at hand a bell which either of them was to sound in case 
of any emergency. When they had retired, Quincey, Go- 
daiming, and I arranged that we should sit up, dividing the 
night between us, and watch over the safety of the poor 
stricken lady. The first watch falls to Quincey, so the rest 
of us shall be off to bed as soon as we can. Godaiming has 
already turned in, for his is the second watch. Now that m) 
work is done I, too, shall go to bed. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. 

3 — 4 October , close to midnight . — I thought yesterday 
would never end. There was over me a yearning for sleep, 
in some sort of blind belief that to wake would be to find 
things changed, and that any change must now be for the 
better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next step 
was to be, but we could arrive at no result. All we knew 
was that one earth-box remained, and that the Count alone 
knew where it was. If he chooses to lie hidden, he may 
baffle us for years; and in the meantime! — the thought is 
too horrible, I dare not think of it even now. This I know : 
that if ever there was a woman who was all perfection, that 
one is my poor wronged darling. I love her a thousand 
times more for her sweet pity of last night, a pity that made 
my own hate of the monster seem despicable. Surely God 
will not permit the world to be the poorer by the loss of 
such a creature. This is hope to me. We are all drifting 
reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor. Thank God ! 
Mina is sleeping, and sleeping without dreams. I fear what 
her dreams might be like, with such terrible memories to 
ground them in. She has not been so calm, within my see- 


Dr. Seward's Diary 311 

ing, since the sunset. Then, for a while, there came over her 
face a repose which was like spring after the blasts of 
March. I thought at the time that it was the softness of the 
red sunset on her face, but somehow now I think it has a 
deeper meaning. I am not sleepy myself, though I am 
weary — weary to death. However, I must try to sleep ; for 
there is to-morrow to think of, and there is no rest for me 
until .... 

Later. — I must have fallen asleep, for I was awaked by 
Mina, who was sitting up in bed, with a startled look on her 
face. I could see easily, for we did not leave the room in 
darkness; she had placed a warning hand over my mouth, 
and now she whispered in my ear : — 

“Hush ! there is someone in the corridor !” I got up softly, 
and, crossing the room, gently opened the door. 

Just outside, stretched on a mattress, lay Mr. Morris, wide 
awake. He raised a warning hand for silence as he whis- 
pered to me : — 

“Hush ! go back to bed ; it is all right. One of us will be 
here all night. We don’t mean to take any chances !” 

His look and gesture forbade discussion, so I came back 
and told Mina. She sighed and positively a shadow of a 
smile stole over her poor, pale face as she put her arms 
round me and said softly : — 

“Oh, thank God for good brave men !” With a sigh she 
sank back again to sleep. I write this now as I am not 
sleepy, though I must try again. 

4 October, morning. — Once again during the night I was 
wakened by Mina. This time we had all had a good sleep, 
for the grey of the coming dawn was making the windows 
into sharp oblongs, and the gas flame was like a speck rathe* 
than a disc of light. She said to me hurriedly : — 

“Go, call the Professor. I want to see him at once.” 

“Why?” I asked. 

“I have an idea. I suppose it mwst have come in the night, 
and matured without my knowing it. He must hypno- 
tise me before the dawn, and then I shall be able to speak. 
Go quick, dearest ; the time is getting close.” I went to the 
door. Dr. Seward was resting on the mattress, and, seeing 
me, he sprang to his feet. 

“Is anything wrong?” he asked, in alarm. 


3 1 2 Dracula 

“No,” I replied; “but Mina wants to see Dr. Van Helsing 
at once.” 

“I will go,” he said, and hurried into the Professor’s room. 

In two or three minutes later Van Helsing was in the room 
in his dressing-gown, and Mr. Morris and Lord Godaiming 
were with Dr. Seward at the door asking questions. When 
the Professor saw Mina a smile — a positive smile ousted the 
anxiety of his face ; he rubbed his hands as he said : — 

“Oh, my dear Madam Mina, this is indeed a change. See ! 
friend Jonathan, we have got our dear Madam Mina, as of 
old, back to us to-day !” Then turning to her, he said, cheer- 
fully : “And what am I do for you ? For at this hour you do 
not want me for nothings.” 

“I want you to hypnotise me!” she said. “Do it before 
the dawn, for I feel that then I can speak, and speak freely. 
Be quick, for the time is short!” Without a word he mo- 
tioned her to sit up in bed. 

Looking fixedly at her, he commenced to make passes in 
front of her, from over the top of her head downward, with 
each hand in turn. Mina gazed at him fixedly for a few 
minutes, during which my own heart beat like a trip ham- 
mer, for I felt that some crisis was at hand. Gradually her 
eyes closed, and she sat, stock still ; only by the gentle heav- 
ing of her bosom could one know that she was alive. The 
Professor made a few more passes and then stopped, and 1 
could see that his forehead was covered with great beads of 
perspiration. Mina opened her eyes ; but she did not seem 
the same woman. There was a far-away look in her eyes, 
and her voice had a sad dreaminess which was new to me. 
Raising his hand to impose silence, the Professor motioned 
to me to bring the others in. They came on tip-toe, closing 
the door behind them, and stood at the foot of the bed, look- 
ing on. Mina appeared not to see them. The stillness was 
broken by Van Helsing’s voice speaking in a low level tone 
which would not break the current of her thoughts : — 

“Where are you ?” The answer came in a neutral way : — • 

“I do not know. Sleep has no place it can call its own.” 
For several minutes there was silence. Mina sat rigid, and 
the Professor stood staring at her fixedly; the rest of us 
hardly dared to breathe. The room was growing lighter; 
without taking his eyes from Mina’s face, Dr. Van Helsing 
motioned me to pull up the blind. I did so, and the dav 
teemed just upon us. A red streak shot up, and a rosy light 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 313 

seemed to diffuse itself through the room. On the instant 
the Professor spoke again : — 

'‘Where are you now ?” The answer came dreamily, but 
with intention ; it were as though she were interpreting 
something. I have heard her use the same tone when read- 
ing her shorthand notes. 

“I do not know. It is all strange to me!” 

“What do you see?” 

“I can see nothing ; it is all dark.” 

“What do you hear?” I could detect the strain in the 
Professor’s patient voice. 

“The lapping of water. It is gurgling by, and little waves 
leap. I can hear them on the outside.” 

“Then you are on a ship?” We all looked at each other, 
trying to glean something each from the other. We were 
afraid to think. The answer came quick : — 

“Oh, yes !” 

“What else do you hear ?” 

“The sound of men stamping overhead as they run about 
There is the creaking of a chain, and the loud tinkle as the 
check of the capstan falls into the rachet.” 

“What are you doing ?” 

“I am still — oh, so still. It is like death!” The voice 
faded away into a deep breath as of one sleeping, and the 
open eyes closed again. 

By this time the sun had risen, and we were all in the full 
light of day. Dr. Van Helsing placed his hands on Mina’s 
shoulders, and laid her head down softly on her pillow. She 
lay like a sleeping child for a few moments, and then, with 
a long sigh, awoke and stared in wonder to see us all around 
her. “Have I been talking in my sleep?” was all she said. 
She seemed, however, to know the situation without telling ; 
though she was eager to know what she had told. The Pro- 
fessor repeated the conversation, and she said : — 

“Then there is not a moment to lose: it may not be yet 
too late !” Mr. Morris and Lord Godaiming started for the 
door but the Professor’s calm voice called them back : — 

“Stay, my friends. That ship wherever it was, was weigh- 
ing anchor whilst she spoke. There are many ships weigh- 
ing anchor at the moment in your so great Port of London. 
Which of them is it that you seek ? God be thanked that we 
have once again a clue, though whither it may lead us we 
know not. We have been blind somewhat; blind after thf 


Dracula 


3H 

manner of men, since when we can look back we see what we 
might have seen looking forward if we had been able to see 
what we might have seen ! Alas ! but that sentence is a 
puddle; is it not? We can know now what was in the 
Count’s mind wjien he seize that money, though Jonathan’s 
so fierce knife put him in the danger that even he dread. He 
meant escape. Hear me, ESCAPE ! He saw that with but 
one earth-box left, and a pack of men following like dogs 
after a fox, this London was no place for him. He have 
take his last earth-box on board a ship, and he leave the 
land. He think to escape, but no ! we follow him. Tally Ho ! 
as friend Arthur would say when he put on his red frock ! 
Our old fox is wily; oh! so wily and we must follow with 
wile. I too am wily and I think his mind in a little while. 
In meantime we may rest and in peace, for there are 
waters between us which he do not want to pass, and which 
he could not if he would — unless the ship were to touch the 
land, and then only at full or slack tide. See, and the sun 
is just rose, and all day to sunset is to us. Let us take bath, 
and dress, and have breakfast which we all need, and which 
we can eat comfortably since he be not in the same land with 
us.” Mina looked at him appealingly as she asked : — 

“But why need we seek him further, when he is gone away 
from us ?” He took her hand and patted it as he replied : — 
“Ask me nothings as yet When we have breakfast, then 
I answer all questions.” He would say no more, and we 
separated to dress. 

After breakfast Mina repeated her question. He looked at 
her gravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully : — 
“Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than 
ever must we find him even if we have to follow him to the 
jaws of Hell !” She grew paler as she asked faintly : — 
“Why?” 

“Because,” he answered solemnly, “he can live for centu- 
ries, and you are but mortal woman. Time is now to be 
dreaded — since once he put that mark upon your throat.” 

I was just in time to catch her as she fell forward in a 
faint. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

dr. seward's phonograph diary, spoken by van helsing. 
This to Jonathan Harker. 

You are to stay with your dear Madam Mina. We shall 
go to make our search— if I can call it so, for it is not search 
but knowing, and we seek confirmation only. But do you 
stay and take care of her to-day. This is your best and most 
holiest office. This day nothing can find him here. Let me 
tell you that so you will know what we four know already, 
for I have tell them. He, our enemy, have gone away; he 
have gone back to his Castle in Transyl vania. I know it so 
well, as if a great hand of fire wrote it on the wall. He have 
prepare for this in some way, and that last earth-box was 
ready to ship somewheres. For this he took the money ; for 
this he hurry at the last, lest we catch him before the sun go 
down. It was his last hope, save that he might hide in the 
tomb that he think poor Miss Lucy, being as he thought like 
him, keep open to him. But there was not of time. When 
that fail he make straight for his last resource — his last 
earthwork I might say did I wish double entente. He is 
clever, oh so clever ! he know that his game here was finish ; 
and so he decide he go back home. He find ship going by 
the route he came, and he go in it. We go off now to find 
what ship, and whither bound ; when we have discover that, 
we come back and tell you all. Then we will comfort you 
and poor dear Madam Mina with new hope. For it will be 
hope when you think it over : that all is not lost. This very 
creature that we pursue, he take hundreds of years to get so 
far as London; and yet in one day, when we know of the 
disposal of him we drive him out. He is finite, though he is 
powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But 
we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more 
strong together. Take heart afresh dear husband of Madam 
Mina. This battle is but begun, and in the end we shall win 
— so sure as that God sits on high to watch over His chil- 
dren. Therefore be of much comfort till we return. 

Van HELSiNa 
3IS 


3 l6 


Dracula 


Jonathan Harke/s Journal . 

4 October. — When I read to Mina, Van Helsing’ s message 
in the phonograph, the poor girl brightened up considerably. 
Already the certainty that the Count is out of the country 
has given her comfort ; and comfort is strength to her. For 
my own part, now that his horrible danger is not face to face 
with us, it seems almost impossible to believe in it. Even 
my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem like a 
long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the 
bright sunlight — 

Alas ! how can I disbelieve ! In the midst of my thought 
my eye fell on the red scar on my poor darling’s white, fore- 
head. Whilst that lasts, there can be no disbelief. And 
afterwards the very memory of it will keep faith crystal 
clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have been over all 
the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality 
seems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. 
There is something of a guiding purpose manifest through- 
out, which is comforting. Mina says that perhaps we are the 
instruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to 
think as she does. We have never spoken to each other yet 
of the future. It is better to wait till we see the Professor 
and the others after their investigations. 

The day is running by more quickly than I ever thought a 
day could run for me again. It is now three o’clock. 

Mina Marker's Journal. 

5 October, 5 p.m. — Our meeting for report. Present : Pro- 
fessor Van Helsing, Lord Godaiming, Dr. Seward, Mr. 
Quincey Morris, Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker. 

Dr. Van Helsing described what steps were taken during 
the day to discover on what boat and whither bound Count 
Dracula made his escape : — 

“As I knew that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I 
felt sure that he must go by the Danube mouth ; or by some- 
where in the Black Sea, since by that way he come. It was a 
dreary blank that was before us. Omne ignotum pro magni- 
hco; and so with heavy hearts we start to find what ships 
leave for the Black Sea last night. He was in sailing ship, 
since Madam Mina tell of sails being set. These not so im- 
portant as to go in your list of the shipping in the Times 


Dr. Seward’s Diary jiy 

and so we go, by suggestion of Lord Godaiming, to your 
Lloyd’s, where are note of all ships that sail, however so 
small. There we find that only one Black-Sea-bound ship go 
out with the tide. She is the Czarina Catherine, and she sail 
from Doolittle’s Wharf for Varna, and thence on to other 
parts and up the Danube. ‘Soh!’ said I, ‘this is the ship 
whereon is the Count.’ So off we go to Doolittle’s Wharf, 
and there we find a man in an office of wood so small that 
the man look bigger than the office. From him we inquire 
of the goings of the Czarina Catherine. He swear much, 
and he red face and loud of voice, but he good fellow all the 
same ; and when Quincey give him something from his 
pocket which crackle as he roll it up, and put it in a so small 
bag which he have hid deep in his clothing, he still better 
fellow and humlile servant to us. He come with us, and ask 
many men who are rough and hot; these be better fellows 
too when they have been no more thirsty. They say much of 
blood and bloom and of others which I comprehend not, 
though I guess what they mean ; but nevertheless they tell us 
all things which we want to know. 

“They make known to us among them, how last after- 
noon at about five o’clock comes a man so hurry. A tall man, 
thin and pale, with high nose arid teeth so white, and eyes 
that seem to be burning. That he be all in black, except 
that he have a hat of straw which suit not him or the time. 
That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry as to 
what ship sails for the Black Sea and for where. Some took 
him to the office and then to the ship, where he will not go 
aboard but halt at shore end of gang-plank, and ask that the 
captain come to him. The captain come, when told that he 
will be pay well ; and though he swear much at the first he 
agree to term. Then the thin man go and some one tell him 
where horse and cart can be hired. He go there and soon he 
come again, himself driving cart on which a great box ; this 
he himself lift down, though it take several to put it on truck 
for the ship. He give much talk to captain as to how and 
where his box is to be place ; but the captain like it not and 
swear at him in many tongues, and tell him that if he like 
he can come and see where it shall be. But he say ‘no that 
he come not yet, for that he have much to do. Whereupon 
the captain tell him that he had better be quick — with blood 
— for that his ship will leave the place — of blood — before 
the turn of the tide — with blood. Then the thin man smile. 


Dracula 


3 l8 

and say that of course he must go when he think fit ; but he 
will be surprise if he go quite so soon. The captain swear 
again, polyglot, and the thin man make him bow, and thank 
him, and say that he will so far intrude on his kindness as to 
come aboard before the sailing. Final the captain, more red 
than ever, and in more tongues, tell him that he doesn’t want 
fio Frenchmen — with bloom upon them and also with blood 
—in his ship — with blood on her also. And so, after asking 
where there might be close at hand a shop where he might 
purchase ship forms, he departed. 

“No one knew where he went ‘or bloomin’ well cared,’ as 
they said, for they had something else to think of — well with 
blood again; for it soon became apparent to all that the 
Czarina Catherine would not sail as was expected. A thin mist 
began to creep up from the river, and it grew, and grew ; till 
soon a dense fog enveloped the ship and all around her. The 
captain swore polyglot — very polyglot — polyglot with bloom 
and blood; but he could do nothing. The water rose and 
rose; and he began to fear that he would lose the tide alto- 
gether. He was in no friendly mood, when just at full tide, 
the thin man came up the gang-plank again and asked to see 
where his box had been stowed. Then the captain replied 
that he wished that he and his box — old and with much 
bloom and blood — were in hell. But the thin man did not be 
offend, and went down with the mate and saw where it was 
place, and came up and stood awhile on deck in fog. He 
must have come off by himself, for none notice him. Indeed 
they thought not of him; for soon the fog begin to melt 
away, and all was clear again. My friends of the thirst and 
the language that was of bloom and blood laughed, as they 
told how the captain’s swears exceeded even his usual poly- 
glot, and was more than ever full of picturesque, when on 
questioning other mariners who were on movement up and 
down on the river that hour, he found that few of them had 
seen any of fog at all, except where it lay round the wharf. 
However, the ship went out on the ebb tide ; and was doubt- 
less by morning far down the river mouth. She was by then, 
when they told us, well out to sea. 

“And so my dear Madam Mina, it is that we have to rest 
for a time, for our enemy is on the sea, with the fog at his 
command, on his way to the Danube mouth. To sail a ship 
takes time, go she never so quick ; and when we start we go 
on land more quick, and we meet him there. Our best hope 


Dr, Seward’s Diary ^19 

is to come on him when in the box between sunrise and sun- 
set ; for then he can make no struggle, and we may deal with 
him as we should. There are days for us, in which we can 
make ready our plan. We know all about where he go; for 
we have seen the owner of the ship, who have shown us in- 
voices and all papers that can be. The box we seek is to be 
landed in Varna, and to be given to an agent, one Ristics 
who will there present his credentials ; and so our merchant 
friend will have done his part. When he ask if there be any 
wrong, for that so, he can telegraph and have inquiry made 
at Varna, we say ‘no for what is to be done is not for police 
or of the customs. It must be done by us alone and in our 
own way.” 

When Dr. Van Helsing had done speaking, I asked him 
if he were certain that the Count had remained on board the 
| ship. He replied: “We have the best proof of that: your 
own evidence, when in the hypnotic trance this morning.” 
i I asked him again if it were really necessary that they should 
pursue the Count, for oh ! I dread Jonathan leaving me, and 
I know that he would surely go if the others went. He an- 
| swered in growing passion, at first quietly. As he went on, 
however, he grew more angry and more forceful, till in the 
end we could not but see wherein was at least some of that 
personal dominance which made him so long a master 
amongst men : — 

“Yes it is necessary — necessary — necessary! For your 
sake in the first, and then for the sake of humanity. This 
monster has done much harm already, in the narrow scope 
where he find himself, and in the short time when as yet he 
was only as a body groping his so small measure in darkness 
and not knowing. All this have I told these others ; you, my 
dear Madam Mina, will learn it in the phonograph of my 
friend John, or in that of your husband. I have told them 
how the measure of leaving his own barren land barren of 
peoples — and coming to a new land where life of man teems 
till they are like the multitude of standing corn, was the work 
of centuries. Were another of the Un-Dead, like him, to try 
to do what he has done, perhaps not all the centuries of the 
world that have been, or that will be, could aid him. With 
this one, all the forces of nature that are occult and deep and 
strong must have worked together in some wondrous way 
The very place, where he have been alive, Un-Dead for all 
these centuries, is full of strangeness of the geologic and 


Dracula 


320 

chemical world. There are deep caverns and fissures that 
reach none know whither. There have been volcanoes, some 
of whose openings still send out waters of strange proper- 
ties, and gases that kill or make to vivify. Doubtless, there 
is something magnetic or electric in some of these combina- 
tions of occult forces which work for physical life in strange 
way ; and in himself were from the first some great qualities. 
In a hard and warlike time he was celebrate that he have 
more iron nerve, more subtle brain, more braver heart, than 
any man. In him some vital principle have in strange way 
found their utmost; and as his body keep strong and grow 
and thrive, so his brain grow too. All this without that dia- 
bolic aid which is surely to him ; for it have to yield to the 
powers that come from, and are, symbolic of good. And 
now this is what he is to us. He have infect you — oh forgive 
me, my dear, that I must say such ; but it is for good of you 
that I speak. He infect you in such wise, that even if he do 
no more, you have only to live — to live in your own old, 
sweet way; and so in time, death, which is of man’s com- 
mon lot and with God’s sanction, shall make you like to him. 
This must not be! We have sworn together that it must 
not. Thus are we ministers of God’s own wish: that the 
world, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given 
over to monsters, whose very existence would defame Him. 
He have allowed us to redeem one soul already, and we go 
out as the old knights of the Cross to redeem more. Like 
them we shall travel towards the sunrise; and like them, if 
we fall, we fall in good cause.” He paused and I said : — 

“But will not the Count take his rebuff wisely? Since he 
has been driven from England, will he not avoid it, as a tiger 
does the village from which he has been hunted ?” 

“Aha!” he said, “your simile of the tiger good, for me, 
and I shall adopt him. Your man-eater, as they of India 
call the tiger who has once taste blood of the human, care no 
more for other prey, but prowl unceasing till he get him. 
This that we hunt from our village is a tiger, too, a man- 
eater, and he never cease to prowl. Nay in himself he is not 
one to retire and stay afar. In his life, his living life, he go 
over the Turkey frontier and attack his enemy on his own 
ground ; he be beaten back, but did he stay? No ! He come 
again, and again, and again. Look at his persistence and 
endurance. With the child-brain that was to him he have 
long since conceive the idea of coming to a great city. What 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 321 

does he do? He find out the place of all the world most of 
promise for him. Then he deliberately set himself down to 
prepare for the task. He find in patience just how is his 
strength, and what are his powers. He study new 
tongues. He learn new social life; new environment 
of old ways, the politic, the law, the finance, the 
science, the habit of a new land and a new peo«* 
pie who have come to be since he was. His glimpse that he 
have had, whet his appetite only and enkeen his desire. Nay, 
it help him to grow as to his brain ; for it all prove to him 
how right he was at the first in his surmises. He have done 
this alone ; all alone ! from a ruin tomb in a forgotten land. 
What more may he not do when the greater world of thought 
is open to him. He that can smile at death, as we know him ; 
who can flourish in the midst of diseases that kill off whole 
peoples. Oh ! if such an one was to come from God, and not 
the Devil, what a force for good might he not be in this old 
world of ours. But we are pledged to set the world free. 
Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret ; for 
in this enlightened age, when men believe not even what they 
see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest strength. 
It would be at once his sheath and his armour, and his 
weapons to destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril 
even our own souls for the safety of one we love — for the 
good of mankind, and for the honour and glory of God.” 

After a general discussion it was determined that for to- 
night nothing be definitely settled; that we should all sleep 
on the facts, and try to think out the proper conclusions. 
To-morrow at breakfast we are to meet again, and, after 
making our conclusions known to one another, we shall de- 
cide on some definite cause of action. 

I feel a wonderful peace and rest to-night. It is as if some 
haunting presence were removed from me. Perhaps. 

My surmise was not finished, could not be ; for I caught 
sight in the mirror of the red mark upon my forehead ; and 
I knew that I was still unclean. 

Dr. Seivard’s Diary. 

5 October.— We all rose early, and I think that sleep did 
much for each and all of us. When we met at early break- 
fast there was more general cheerfulness than any of us had 
ever expected to experience again. 

(2i) 


Dracula 


322 

It is really wonderful how much resilience there is in hu- 
man nature. Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be 
removed in any way — even by death — and we fly back to 
first principles of hope and enjoyment. More than once as 
we sat around the table, my eyes opened in wonder whether 
the whole of the past days had not been a dream. It was 
only when I caught sight of the red blotch on Mrs. Harker’s 
forehead that I was brought back to reality. Even now, 
when I am gravely revolving the matter, it is almost impos- 
sible to realise that the cause of all our trouble is still exist- 
ent. Even Mrs. Harker seems to lose sight of her trouble 
for whole spells ; it is only now and again, when something 
recalls it to her mind, that she thinks of her terrible scar. 
We are to meet here in my study in half an hour and decide 
on our course of action. I see only one immediate difficulty, 
I know it by instinct rather than reason: we shall all have 
to speak frankly ; and yet I fear that in some mysterious way 
poor Mrs. Harker’s tongue is tied. I know that she forms 
conclusions of her own, and from all that has been I can 
guess how brilliant and how true they must be ; but she will 
not, or cannot, give them utterance. I have mentioned this 
to Van Helsing, and he and I are to talk it over when we 
are alone. I suppose it is some of that horrid poison which 
has got into her veins beginning to work. The Count had 
his own purposes when he gave her what Van Helsing called 
“the Vampire’s baptism of blood.” Well, there may be a 
poison that distils itself out of good things ; in an age when 
the existence of ptomaines is a mystery we should not won- 
der at anything ! One thing I know : that if my instinct be 
true regarding poor Mrs. Harker’s silences, then there is a 
terrible difficulty — an unknown danger — in the work before 
us. The same power that compels her silence may compel 
her speech. I dare not think further ; for so I should in my 
thoughts dishonour a noble woman ! 

Van Helsing is coming to my study a little before the oth- 
ers. I shall try to open the subject with him. 

Later . — When the Professor came in, we talked over the 
state of things. I couM see that he had something on his 
mind which he wanted to say, but felt some hesitancy about 
broaching the subject. After beating about the bush a little, 
he said suddenly : — 

“Friend Tohn, there is something that you and I must talk 


Dr. Seward's Diary 323 

of alone, just at the first at any rate. Later, we may have to 
take the others into our confidence;” then he stopped, so I 
waited ; he went on : — 

“Madam Mina, our poor, dear Madam Mina is changing.” 
A cold shiver ran through me to find my worst fears thus 
endorsed. Van Helsing continued: — 

“With the sad experience of Miss Lucy, we must this time 
be warned before things go too far. Our task is now in 
reality more difficult than ever, and this new trouble makes 
every hour of the direst importance. I can see the character- 
istics of the vampire coming in her face. It is now but very, 
very slight ; but it is to be seen if we have eyes to notice with- 
out to prejudge. Her teeth are some sharper, and at times 
her eyes are more hard. But these are not all, there is to her 
the silence now often ; as so it was with Miss Lucy. She did 
not speak, even when she wrote that which she wished to be 
known later. Now my fear is this. If it be that she can, by 
our hypnotic trance, tell what the Count see and hear, is it 
not more true that he who have hypnotise her first, and who 
have drink of her very blood and make her drink of his, 
should, if he will, compel her mind to disclose to him that 
which she know ?” I nodded acquiescence ; he went on : — 

“Then, what we must do is to prevent this ; we must keep 
her ignorant of our intent, and so she cannot tell what she 
know not. This is a painful task! Oh! so painful that it 
heart-break me to think of ; but it must be. When to-day we 
meet, I must tell her that for reason which we will not to 
speak she must not more be of our council, but be simply 
guarded by us.” He wiped his forehead, which had broken 
out in profuse perspiration at the thought of the pain which 
he might have to inflict upon the poor soul already so tor- 
tured. I knew that it would be some sort of comfort to him if 
I told him that I also had come to the same conclusion ; for 
at any rate it would take away the pain of doubt. I told 
him, and the effect was as I expected. 

It is now close to the time of our general gathering. Van 
Helsing has gone away to prepare for the meeting, and his 
painful part of it. I really believe his purpose is to be able 
to pray alone. 

Later . — At the very outset of our meeting a great personal 
relief was experienced by both Van Helsing and myself. 
Mrs. Harker had sent a message by her husband to say that 


Dracula 


3 2 4 

she would not join us at present, as she thought it bettef 
that we should be free to discuss our movements without hef 
presence to embarrass us. The Professor and I looked at 
each other for an instant, and somehow we both seemed re- 
lieved. For my own part, I thought that if Mrs. Harker 
realised the danger herself, it was much pain as well as much 
danger averted. Under the circumstances we agreed, by a 
questioning look and answer, with finger on lip, to preserve 
silence in our suspicions, until we should have been able to 
confer alone again. We went at once into our Plan of Cam- 
paign. Van Helsing roughly put the facts before us first : — 

“The Czarina Catherine left the Thames yesterday morn- 
ing. It will take her at the quickest speed she has ever made 
at least three weeks to reach Varna; but we can travel over- 
land to the same place in three days. Now, if we allow for 
two days less for the ship’s voyage, owing to such weather 
influences as we know that the Count can bring to bear ; and 
if we allow a whole day and night for any delays which may 
occur to us, then we have a margin of nearly two weeks. 
Thus, in order to be quite safe, we must leave here on 17th 
at latest. Then we shall at any rate be in Varna a day before 
the ship arrives, and able to make such preparations as may 
be necessary. Of course we shall all go armed — armed 
against evil things, spiritual as well as physical.” Here 
Quincey Morris added : — 

“I understand that the Count comes from a wolf country, 
and it may be that he shall get there before us. I propose 
that we add Winchesters to our armament. I have a kind of 
belief in a Winchester when there is any trouble of that sort 
around. Do you remember Art, when we had the pack after 
us at Tobolsk? What wouldn’t we have given then for a 
repeater apiece !” 

“Good!” said Van Helsing, “Winchesters it shall be. 
Quincey’s head is level at all times, but most so when there 
is to hunt, though my metaphor be more dishonour to sci- 
ence than wolves be of danger to man. In the meantime we 
can do nothing here ; and as I think that Varna is not fa- 
miliar to any of us, why not go there more soon? It is as 
long to wait here as there. To-night and to-morrow we can 
get ready, and then, if all be well, we four can set out on our 
journey.” 

“We four?” said Harker interrogatively, looking from 
one to another of us 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 325 

“Of course !” answered the Professor quickly, “you must 
remain to take care of your so sweet wife!” Harker was 
silent for awhile and then said in a hollow voice : — 

“Let us talk of that part of it in the morning. I want to 
consult with Mina.” I thought that now was the time for 
Van Helsing to warn him not to disclose our plans to her; 
but he took no notice. I looked at him significantly and 
coughed. For answer he put his finger on his lips and 
turned away. 

Jonathan Harkens Journal. 

5 October , afternoon . — For some time after our meeting 
this morning I could not think. The new phases of things 
leave my mind in a state of wonder which allows no room 
for active thought. Mina’s determination not to take any 
part in the discussion set me thinking; and as I could not 
argue the matter with her, I could only guess. I am as far 
as ever from a solution now. The way the others received 
it, too, puzzled me ; the last time we talked of the subject we 
agreed that there was to be no more concealment of any- 
thing amongst us. Mina is sleeping now, calmly and sweetly 
like a little child. Her lips are curved and her face beams 
with happiness. Thank God there are such moments still 
for her. 

Later . — How strange it all is. I sat watching Mina’s 
happy sleep, and came as near to being happy myself as I 
suppose I shall ever be. As the evening drew on, and the 
earth took its shadows from the sun sinking lower, the si- 
lence of the room grew more and more solemn to me. All 
at once Mina opened her eyes, and looking at me tenderly, 
said : — 

“Jonathan, I want you to promise me something on your 
word of honour. A promise made to me, but made holily in 
God’s hearing, and not to be broken though I should go 
down on my knees and implore you with bitter tears. Quick, 
you must make it to me at once.” 

“Mina,” I said, “a promise like that, I cannot make at 
once. I may have no right to make it.” 

“But, dear one,” she said, with such spiritual intensity 
that her eyes were like pole stars, “it is I who wish it ; and it 
is not for myself. You can ask Dr. Van Helsing if I am not 
right ; if he disagrees you may do as you will. Nay more, if 
you all agree, later, you are absolved from the promise.” 


Dracula 


326 

“I promise !” I said, and for a moment she looked su- 
premely happy ;• though to me all happiness for her was de- 
nied by the red scar on her forehead. She said : — 

“Promise me that you will not tell me anything of the 
plans formed for the campaign against the Count. Not by 
word, or inference, or implication; not at any time whilst 
this remains to me!” and she solemnly pointed to the scar. 
I saw that she was in earnest, and said solemnly : — 

“I promise !” and as I said it I felt that from that instant 
a door had been shut between us. 

Later , midnight . — Mina has been bright and cheerful all 
the evening. So much so that all the rest seemed to take 
courage, as if infected somewhat with her gaiety ; as a result 
even I myself felt as if the pall of gloom which weighs us 
down were somewhat lifted. We all retired early. Mina is 
now sleeping like a little child ; it is a wonderful thing that 
her. faculty of sleep remains to her in the midst of her terri- 
ble trouble. Thank God for it, for then at least she can for- 
get her care. Perhaps her example may affect me as her 
gaiety did to-night. I shall try it. Oh! for a dreamless 
sleep. 

6 October , morning . — Another surprise. Mina woke me 
early, about the same time as yesterday, and asked me to 
bring Dr. Van Iielsing. I thought that it was another occa- 
sion for hypnotism, and without question went for the Pro- 
fessor. He had evidently expected some such call, for I 
found him dressed in his room. His door was ajar, so that 
he could hear the opening of the door of our room. He came 
at once; as he passed into the room, he asked Mina if the 
others might come too. 

“No,” she said quite simply, “it will not be necessary. You 
can tell them just as well. I must go with you on your jour- 
ney.” 

Dr. Van Helsing was as startled as I was. After a mo- 
ment’s pause he asked : — 

“But why?” 

“You must take me with you. I am safer with you, and 
you shall be safer too.” 

“But why, dear Madam Mina? You know that your safety 
is our solemnest duty. We go into danger, to which you 
fire, or may be, more liable than any of us from — from cir-. 


Dr. Seward's Diary 327 

cumstances — things that have been.” He paused embar- 
rassed. 

As she replied, she raised her finger and pointed to her 
forehead : — 

“I know. That is why I must go. I can tell you now, 
whilst the sun is coming up ; I may not be able again. I know 
that when the Count wills me I must go. I know that if he 
tells me to come in secret, I must come by wile ; by any de- 
vice to hoodwink — even Jonathan.” God saw the look that 
she turned on me as she spoke, and if there be indeed a Re- 
cording Angel that look is noted to her everlasting honour. 
I could only clasp her hand. I could not speak ; my emotion 
was too great for even the relief of tears. She went on : — 

“You men are brave and strong. You are strong in your 
numbers, for you can defy that which would break down the 
human endurance of one who had to guard alone. Besides, I 
may be of service, since you can hypnotise me and so learn 
that which even I myself do not know.” Dr. Van Helsing 
said very gravely : — 

“Madam Mina you are, as always, most wise. You shall 
with us come; and together we shall do that which we go 
forth to achieve.” When he had spoken, Mina’s long spell 
of silence made me look at her. She had fallen back on her 
pillow asleep ; she did not even wake when I had pulled up 
the blind and let in the sunlight which flooded the room. 
Van Helsing motioned to me to come with him quietly. We 
went to his room, and within a minute Lord Godaiming, Dr. 
Seward, and Mr. Morris were with us also. He told them 
what Mina had said, and went on : — 

“In the morning we shall leave for Varna. We have now 
to deal with a new factor : Madam Mina. Oh, but her soul 
is true. It is to her an agony to tell us so much as she has 
done; but it is most right, and we are warned in time. There 
must be no chance lost, and in Varna we must be ready to 
act the instant when that ship arrives.” 

“What shall we do exactly?” asked Mr. Morris laconically. 
The Professor paused before replying: — 

“We shall at the first board that ship ; then, when we have 
identified the box, we shall place a branch of the wild rose 
on it. This we shall fasten, for when it is there none can 
emerge ; so at least says the superstition. And to supersti- 
tion must we trust at the first ; it was man’s faith in the early, 
and it have its root in faith still. Then, when we get th« 


Dracula 


328 

opportunity that we seek, when none are near to see, we 
shall open the box, and — and all will be well.” 

“I shall not wait for any opportunity,” said Morris. 
“When I see the box I shall open it and destroy the monster, 
though there were a thousand men looking on, and if I am 
to be wiped out for it the next moment!” I grasped his 
hand instinctively and found it as firm as a piece of steel. I 
think he understood my look ; I hope he did. 

“Good boy,” said Dr. Van Helsing. “Brave boy. Quincey 
is all man, God bless him for it. My child, believe me none 
of us shall lag behind or pause from any fear. I do but say 
what we may do — what we must do. But, indeed, indeed 
we cannot say what we shall do. There are so many things 
which may happen, and their ways and their ends are so va- 
rious that until the moment we may not say. We shall all 
be armed, in all ways; and when the time for the end has 
come, our effort shall not be lack. Now let us to-day put all 
our affairs in order. Let all things which touch on others 
dear to us, and who on us depend, be complete ; for none of 
us can tell what, or when, or how, the end may be.” As for 
me, my own affairs are regulate ; and as I have nothing else 
to do, I shall go make arrangement for the travel. I shall 
have all tickets and so forth for our journey.” 

There was nothing further to be said, and we parted. I 
shall now settle up all my affairs of earth, and be ready for 
whatever may come 

Later . — It is all done ; my will is made, and all complete. 
Mina if she survive is my sole heir. If it should not be so, 
then the others who have been so good to us shall have re- 
mainder. 

It is now drawing towards the sunset ; Mina’s uneasiness 
calls my attention to it. I am sure that there is something on 
her mind which the time of exact sunset will reveal. These 
occasions are becoming harrowing times for us all, for each 
sunrise and sunset opens up some new danger — some new 
pain, which, however, may in God’s will be means to a good 
end. I write all these things in the diary since my darling 
must not hear them now ; but if it may be that she can see 
them again, they shall be ready.” 


CHAPTER XXV 

dr. seward's diary 

II October , Evening . — Jonathan Harker has asked me to 
note this, as he says he is hardly equal to the task, and he 
wants an exact record kept. 

I think that none of us were surprised when we were asked 
to see Mrs. Harker a little before the time of sunset. We 
have of late come to understand that sunrise and sunset are 
to her times of peculiar freedom ; when her old self can be 
manifest without any controlling force subduing or restrain- 
ing her, or inciting her to action. This mood or condition 
begins some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sun- 
set, and lasts till either the sun is high, or whilst the clouds 
are still aglow with the rays streaming above the horizon. 
At first there is a sort of negative condition, as if some tie 
were loosened, and then the absolute freedom quickly fol- 
lows; when, however, the freedom ceases the change-back 
or relapse comes quickly, preceded only by a spell of warn- 
ing silence. 

To-night, when we met she was somewhat constrained, 
and bore all the signs of an internal struggle. I put it down 
myself to her making a violent effort at the earliest instant 
she could do so. A very few minutes, however, gave her 
complete control of herself ; then, motioning her husband to 
sit beside her on the sofa where she was half reclining, she 
made the rest of us bring chairs up close. Taking her hus- 
band’s hand in hers began : — 

“We are all here together in freedom, for perhaps the last 
time! I know, dear; I know that you will always be with 
me to the end.” This was to her husband whose hand had, 
as we could see, tightened upon hers. “In the morning we 
go out upon our task, and God alone knows what may be in 
store for any of us. You are going to be so good to me as 
to take me with you. I know that all that brave earnest men 
can do for a poor weak woman, whose soul perhaps is lost — 
no, no, not yet, but is at any rate at stake — you 
will do. But you must remember that I am not as you 

32 9 


Dracula 


33 ° 

are. There is a poison in my blood, in my soul, which may 
destroy me ; which must destroy me, unless some relief comes 
to us. Oh, my friends, you know as well as I do, that my 
soul is at stake ; and though I know there is one way out for 
me, you must not and I must not take it !” She looked ap- 
pealingly to us all in turn, beginning and ending with her 
husband. 

“What is that way ?” asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. 
“What is that way, which we must not — may not — take ?” 

“That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of 
another, before the greater evil is entirely wrought. I know, 
and you know, that were I once dead you could and would 
set free my immortal spirit, even as you did my poor Lucy’s. 
Were death, or the fear of death, the only thing that stood in 
the way I would not shrink to die here, now, amidst the 
friends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe 
that to die in such a case, when there is hope before us and a 
bitter task to be done, is God’s will. Therefore, I on my 
part, give up here the certainty of eternal rest, and go out 
into the dark where may be the blackest things that the 
world or the nether world holds !” \Ve were all silent, for 
we knew instinctively that this was only a prelude. The 
faces of the others were set, and Harker’s grew ashen grey ; 
perhaps he guessed better than any of us what was coming. 
She continued : — 

“This is what I can give into the hotch-pot.” I could not 
but note the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a 
place, and with all seriousness. “What will each of you 
give? Your lives I know,” she went on quickly, “that is easy 
for brave men. Your lives are God’s, and you can give them 
back to Him ; but what will you give to me ?” She looked 
again questioningly, but this time avoided her husband’s 
face. Quincey seemed to understand; he nodded, and her 
face lit up. “Then I shall tell you plainly what I want, for 
there must be no doubtful matter in this connection between 
us now. You must promise me, one and all — even you my 
beloved husband — that, should the time come, you will kill 
me.” 

“What is that time?” The voice was Quincey’s, but it 
was low and strained. 

“When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that 
it is better that I die that I may live. When I am thus dead 
in the flesh, then you will, without a moment’s delay, drive 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 331 

a stake through me and cut off my head ; or do whatever else 
may be wanting to give me rest !” 

Quincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt 
down before her and taking her hand in his said solemnly : — 

“I’m only a rough fellow, who hasn’t, perhaps, lived as a 
man should to win such a distinction, but I swear to you by 
all that I hold sacred and dear that, should the time ever 
come, I shall not flinch from the duty that you have set us. 
And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I 
am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has come !” 

“My true friend!” was all she could say amid her fast- 
falling tears, as, bending over, she kissed his hand. 

“I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!” said Van Hel- 
sing. 

“And I !” said Lord Godaiming, each of them in turn 
kneeling to her to take the oath. I followed, myself. Then 
her husband turned to her wan-eyed and with a greenish 
pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of his hair, and 
asked : — 

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?” 

“You too, my dearest,” she said, with infinite yearning of 
pity in her voice and eyes. “You must not shrink. You are 
nearest and dearest and all the world to me; our souls are 
knit into one, for all life and all time. Think dear, that there 
have been times when brave men have killed their wives and 
their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the hands 
of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more be- 
cause those that they loved implored them to slay them. It 
is men’s duty towards those whom they love, in such times 
of sore trial ! And oh, my dear, if it is to be that I must 
meet death at any hand, let it be at the hand of him that loves 
me best. Dr. Van Helsing, I have not forgotten your mercy 
in poor Lucy’s case to him who loved” — she stopped with a 
flying blush, and changed her phrase — “to him who had best 
right to give her peace. If that time shall come again, I 
look to you to make it a happy memory of my husband’s life 
that it was his loving hand which set me free from the awful 
thrall upon me.” 

“Again I swear!” came the Professor’s resonant voice. 
Mrs. Harker smiled, positively smiled, as with a sigh of re- 
lief she leaned back and said : — 

“And now one word of warning, a warning which you 
must never forget: this time, if it ever come, may come 


Dracula 


33 2 

quickly and unexpectedly, and in such case you must lose no 
time in using your opportunity. At such a time I myself 
might be — nay! if the time ever comes, shall be — leagued 
with your enemy against you.” 

“One more request she became very solemn as she said 
this, “it is not vital and necessary like the other, but I want 
you to do one thing for me, if you will.” We all acquiesced, 
but no one spoke ; there was no need to speak : — 

“I want you to read the Burial Service.” She was inter- 
rupted by a deep groan from her husband ; taking his hand 
in hers, she held it over her heart, and continued. “You 
must read it over me some day. Whatever may be the issue 
of all this fearful state of things, it will be a sweet thought 
to all or some of us. You, my dearest, will I hope read it, 
for then it will be in your voice in my memory for ever — 
come what may!” 

“But oh, my dear one,” he pleaded, “death is afar off from 
you.” 

“Nay,” she said, holding up a warning hand. “I am 
deeper in death at this moment than if the weight of an 
earthly grave lay heavy upon me !” 

“Oh, my wife, must I read it ?” he said, before he began. 

“It would comfort me, my husband !” was all she said ; 
and he began to read when she had got the book ready. 

“How can I — how could any one — tell of that strange 
scene, its solemnity, its gloom, its sadness, its horror; and, 
withal, its sweetness. Even a sceptic, who can see nothing 
but a travesty of bitter truth in anything holy or emotional, 
would have been melted to the heart had he seen that little 
group of loving and devoted friends kneeling round that 
stricken and sorrowing lady ; or heard the tender passion of 
her husband’s voice, as in tones so broken with emotion that 
often he had to pause, he read the simple and beautiful serv- 
ice from the Burial of the Dead. I — I cannot go on — words 
— and — v-voice — f-fail m-me!” .... 

She was right in her instinct. Strange as it all was, bi- 
zarre as it may hereafter seem even to us who felt its potent 
influence at the time, it comforted us much ; and the silence, 
which showed Mrs. Harker’s coming relapse from her free- 
dom of soul, did not seem so full of despair to any of us as 
we had dreaded. 


333 


Dr. Seward's Diary 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. 

15 October. Varna . — We left Charing Cross on the morn- 
ing of the 1 2th, got to Paris the same night, and took the 
places secured for us in the Orient Express. We travelled 
night and day, arriving here at about five o’clock. Lord 
Godaiming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had 
arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel— 
*‘the Odessus.” The journey may have had incidents ; I was, 
however, too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the 
Czarina Catherine comes into port there will be no interest 
for me in anything in the wide world. Thank God ! Mina is 
well, and looks to be getting stronger; her colour is coming 
back. She sleeps a great deal ; throughout the journey she 
slept nearly all the time. Before sunrise and sunset, how- 
ever, she is very wakeful and alert; and it has become a 
habit for Van Helsing to hypnotise her at such times. At 
first, some effort was needed, and he had to make many 
passes ; but now, she seems to yield at once, as if by habit, 
and scarcely any action is needed. He seems to have power 
at these particular moments to simply will, and her thoughts 
obey him. He always asks her what she can see and hear. She 
answers to the first : — 

“Nothing ; all is dark.” And to the second : — 

“I can hear the waves lapping against the ship, and the 
water rushing by. Canvas and cordage strain and masts and 
yards creak. The wind is high — I can hear it in the shrouds, 
and the bow throws back the foam.” It is evident that the 
Czarina Catherine is still a sea, hastening on her way to 
Varna. Lord Godaiming has just returned. He had four 
telegrams, one each day since we started, and all to the same 
effect : that the Czarina Catherine had not been reported to 
Lloyd’s from anywhere. He had arranged before leaving 
London that his agent should send him every day a telegram 
saying if the ship had been reported. He was to have a 
message even if she were not reported, so that he might be 
sure that there was a watch being kept at the other end of 
the wire. 

We had dinner and went to bed early. To-morrow we are 
to see the Vice-Consul, and to arrange, if we can, about get- 
ting on board the ship as soon as she arrives. Van Helsing 
says that our chance will be to get on the boat between sun- 
rise and sunset. The Count, even if he takes the form 0 1 


334 Dracula 

a bat, cannot cross the running water of his own volition, 
and so cannot leave the ship. As he dare not change to 
man’s form without suspicion — which he evidently wishes 
to avoid — he must remain in the box. If, then, we can come 
on board after sunrise, he is at our mercy ; for we can open 
the box and make sure of him, as we did of poor Lucy, be- 
fore he wakes. What mercy he shall get from us will not 
count for much. We think that we shall not have much 
trouble with officials or the seamen. Thank God ! this is the 
country where bribery can do anything, and we are well sup- 
plied with money. We have only to make sure that the ship 
cannot come into port between sunset and sunrise without 
our being warned, and we shall be safe. Judge Moneybag 
will settle this case, I think ! 

16 October. — Mina’s report still the same: lapping waves 
and rushing water, darkness and favouring winds. We are 
evidently in good time, and when we hear of the Czarina 
Catherine we shall be ready. As she must pass the Darda- 
nelles we are sure to have some report. 

17 October . — Everything is pretty well fixed now, I think, 
to welcome the Count on his return from his tour. Godai- 
ming told the shippers that he fancied that the box sent 
aboard might contain something stolen from a friend of his, 
and got a half consent that he might open it at his own risk. 
The owner gave him a paper telling the Captain to give him 
every facility in doing whatever he chose on board the ship, 
and also a similar authorisation to his agent at Varna. We 
have seen the agent, who was much impressed with Godai- 
ming’s kindly manner to him, and we are all satisfied that 
whatever he can do to aid our wishes will be done. We have 
already arranged what to do in case we get the box open. 
If the Count is there, Van Helsing and Seward will cut off 
his head at once and drive a stake through his heart. Mor- 
ris and Godaiming and I shall prevent interference, even if 
we have to use the arms which we shall have ready. The 
Professor says that if we can so treat the Count’s body, it 
will soon after fall into dust. In such case there would be 
no evidence against us, in case any suspicion of murder were 
aroused. But even if it were not, we should stand or fall 
by our act, and perhaps some day this very script may be 
evidence to come between some of us and a rope. For my- 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 35^ 

self, I should take the chance only too thankfully if it were 
to come. We mean to leave no stone unturned to carry out 
our intent. We have arranged with certain officials that the 
instant the Czarina Catherine is seen, we are to be informed 
by a special messenger. 

24 October . — A whole week of waiting. Daily telegrams 
to Godaiming, but only the same story : “Not yet reported.” 
Mina’s morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried: 
lapping waves, rushing water, and creaking masts. 

Telegram, October 24th. 

Rufus Smith, Lloyd's, London, to Lord Godaiming, care of 
H.B.M. Vice-Consul, Varna. 

te Czarina Catherine reported this morning from Darda- 
nelles.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

25 October . — How I miss my phonograph! To write 
diary with a pen is irksome to me; but Van Helsing says I 
must. We were all wild with excitement yesterday when 
Godaiming got his telegram from Lloyd’s. I know now 
what men feel in battle when the call to action is heard. Mrs. 
Harker, alone of our party, did not show any signs of emo- 
tion. After all, it is not strange that she did not; for we 
took special care not to let her know anything about it, and 
we all tried not to show any excitement when we were in her 
presence. In old days she would, I am sure, have noticed, 
no matter how we might have tried to conceal it ; but in this 
way she is greatly changed during the past three weeks. The 
lethargy grows upon her, and though she seems strong and 
well, and is getting back some of her colour, Van Helsing 
and I are hot satisfied. We talk of her often ; we have not, 
however, said a word to the others. It would break poor 
Harker’s heart — certainly his nerve — if he knew that we 
had even a suspicion on the subject. Van Helsing examines, 
he tells me, her teeth very carefully, whilst she is in the hyp- 
notic condition, for he says that so long as they do not be- 
gin to sharpen there is no active danger of a change in her. 
If this change should come, it would be necessary to take 
steps ! . • . . . We both know what those steps would 

have to be, though we do not mention our thoughts to each 


Dracula 


33 6 

other. We should neither of us shrink from the task — awful 
though it be to contemplate. “Euthanasia” is an excellent 
and a comforting word! 1 am grateful to whoever in- 
vented it. 

It is only about 24 hours’ sail from the Dardanelles to here, 
at the rate the Czarina Catherine has come from London. 
She should therefore arrive some time in the morning; but 
as she cannot possibly get in before then, we are all about to 
retire early. We shall get up at one o’clock, so as to be 
ready. 

25 October, Noon. — No news yet of the ship’s arrival. 
Mrs. Harker’s hypnotic report this morning was the same as 
usual, so it is possible that we may get news at any moment. 
We men are all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who 
is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I 
found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife 
which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look 
out for the Count if the edge of that “Kukri” ever touches 
his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand ! 

Van Helsing and I were a little alarmed about Mrs. Har- 
ker to-day. About noon she got into a sort of lethargy which 
we did not like; although we kept silence to the others, we 
were neither of us happy about it. She had been restless all 
the morning, so that we were at first glad to know that she 
was sleeping. When, however, her husband mentioned casu- 
ally that she was sleeping so soundly that he could not wake 
her, we went to her room to see for ourselves. She was 
breathing naturally and looked so well and peaceful that we 
agreed that the sleep was better for her than anything else. 
Poor girl, she has so much to forget that it is no wonder that 
sleep, if it brings oblivion to her, does her good. 

Later. — Our opinion was justified, for when after a re- 
freshing sleep of some hours she woke up, she seemed 
brighter and better than she had been for days. At 
sunset she made the usual hypnotic report. Wherever he 
may be in the Black Sea, the Count is hurrying to his desti- 
nation. To his doom, I trust ! 

26 October. — Another day and no tidings of the Czarina 
Catherine. She ought to be here by now. That she is still 
journeying somewhere is apparent, for Mrs. Harker’s hyp- 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 337 

notic report at sunrise was still the same. It is possible that 
the vessel may be lying by, at times, for fog; some of the 
steamers which came in last evening reported patches of fog 
both to north and south of the port. We must continue our 
watching, as the ship may now be signalled any moment. 

27 October , Noon. — Most strange; no news yet of the 
ship we wait for. Mrs. Harker reported last night and this 
morning as usual: “lapping waves and rushing water,” 
though she added that “the waves were very faint.” The 
telegrams from London have been the same : “no further re- 
port.” Van Helsing is terribly anxious, and told me just 
now that he fears the Count is escaping us. He added sig- 
nificantly : — 

“I did not like that lethargy of Madam Mina's. Souls and 
memories can do strange things during trance.” I was about 
to ask him more, but Harker just then came in, and he held 
up a warning hand. We must try to-night at sunset to make 
her speak more fully when in her hypnotic state. 


28 October. — Telegram. Rufus Smith , London, to Lord 
Godaiming, care H.B.M. Vice Consul, Varna. 


“Czarina Catherine reported entering Galatz at one o'clock 
to-day.” 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 


28 October. — When the telegram came announcing the 
arrival in Galatz I do not think it was such a shock to any of 
us as might have been expected. True, we did not know 
whence, or how, or when, the bolt would come ; but I think 
we all expected that something strange would happen. The 
delay of arrival at Varna made us individually satisfied that 
things would not be just as we had expected ; we only waited 
to learn where the change would occur. None the less, how- 
ever, was it a surprise. I suppose that nature works on such 
a hopeful basis that we believe against ourselves that things 
will be as they ought to be, not as we should know that they 
will be. Transcendentalism is a beacon to the angels, even 
if it be a will-o'-the-wisp to man. It was an odd experience, 
and we all took it differently. Van Helsing raised his hands 
over his head for a moment, as though in remonstrance with 
the Almighty ; but he said not a word, and in a few seconds 
stood up with his face sternly set. Lord Godaiming grew 
(22) 


Dracula 


33 8 

very pale, and sat breathing heavily. I was myself half 
stunned and looked in wonder at one after another. Quincey 
Morris tightened his belt with that quick movement which 
I knew so well ; in our old wandering days it meant “action.” 
Mrs. Harker grew ghastly white, so that the scar on her 
forehead seemed to burn, but she folded her hands meekly 
and looked up in prayer. Harker smiled — actually smiled — 
the dark, bitter smile of one who is without hope ; but at the 
same time his action belied his words, for his hands in- 
stinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested 
there. “When does the next train start for Galatz?” said 
Van Helsing to us generally. 

“At 6:30 to-morrow morning!” We all stared, for the 
answer came from Mrs. Harker. 

“How on earth do you know ?” said Art. 

“You forget — or perhaps you do not know, though Jona- 
than does and so does Dr. Van Helsing — that I am the train 
fiend. At home in Exeter I always used to make up the 
time-tables, so as to be helpful to my husband. I found it 
so useful sometimes, that I always make a study of the time- 
tables now. I knew that if anything were to take us to 
Castle Dracula we should go by Galatz, or at any rate 
through Bucharest, so I learned the times very carefully. 
Unhappily there are not many to learn, as the only train to- 
morrow leaves as I say.” 

“Wonderful woman !” murmured the Professor. 

“Can't we get a special?” asked Lord Godaiming. Van 
Helsing shook his head : “I fear not. This land is very dif- 
ferent from your’s or mine ; even if we did have a special, it 
would probably not arrive as soon as our regular train. 
Moreover, we have something to prepare. We must think. 
Now let us organize. You, friend Arthur, go to the train 
and get the tickets and arrange that all be ready for us to 
go in the morning. Do you, friend Jonathan, go to the 
agent of the ship and get from him letters to the agent in 
Galatz, with authority to make search the ship just as it was 
here. Morris Quincey, you see the Vice-Consul, and get his 
aid with his fellow in Galatz and all he can do to make our 
way smooth, so that no times be lost when over the Danube. 
John will stay with Madam Mina and me, and we shall con- 
sult. For so if time be long you may be delayed ; and it will 
not matter when the sun set, since I am here with Madam to 
siake report,” 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 339 

“And I,” said Mrs. Harker brightly, and more like her 
old self than she had been for many a long day, “shall try 
to be of use in all ways, and shall think and write for you 
as I used to do. Something is shifting from me in some 
strange way, and I feel freer than I have been of late!” 
The three younger men looked happier at the moment as 
they seemed to realise the significance of her words ; but Van 
Helsing and I, turning to each other, met each a grave and 
troubled glance. We said nothing at the time, however. 

# When the three men had gone out to their tasks Van Hel- 
sing asked Mrs. Harker to look up the copy of the diaries 
and find him the part of Harker’s journal at the Castle. She 
went away to get it; when the door was shut upon her he 
said to me: — 

“We mean the same! speak out!” 

“There is some change. It is a hope that makes me sick, 
for it may deceive us.” 

“Quite so. Do you know why I asked her to get the 
manuscript ?” 

“No !” said I, “unless it was to get an opportunity of see- 
ing me alone.” 

“You are in part right, friend John, but only in part. I 
want to tell you something. And oh, my friend, I am taking 
a great — a terrible — risk; but I believe it is right. In the 
moment when Madam Mina said those words that arrest both 
our understanding, an inspiration came to me. In the trance 
of three days ago the Count sent her his spirit to read her 
mind ; or more like he took her to see him in his earth-box 
in the ship with water rushing, just as it go free at rise and 
set of sun. He learn then that we are here; for she have 
more to tell in her open life with eyes to see and ears to 
hear than he, shut, as he is, in his coffin-box. Now he make 
his most effort to escape us. At present he want her not. 

He is sure with his so great knowledge that she will come at 
his call ; but he cut her off — take her, as he can do, out of his 
own power, that so she come not to him. Ah ! there I have 
hope that our man-brains that have been of man so long 
and that have not lost the grace of God, will come higher 
than his child-brain that lie in his tomb for centuries, that 
grow not yet to our stature, and that do only work selfish and 
therefore small. Here comes Madam Mina; not a word to 
her of her trance! She know it not; and it would over- 
whelm her and make despair just when we want all her hope* 


Dracula 


340 

all her courage; when most we want all her great brain 
which is trained like man’s brain, but is of sweet woman and 
have a special power which the Count give her, and which he 
may not take away altogether — though he think not so. Hush ! 
let me speak, and you shall learn. Oh, John, my friend, we 
are in awful straits. I fear, as I never feared before.^ We 
can only trust the good God. Silence ! here she comes !” 

I thought that the Professor was going to break down and 
have hysterics, just as he had when Lucy died, but with a 
great effort he controlled himself and was at perfect nervous 
poise when Mrs. Harker tripped into the room, bright and 
happy-looking and, in the doing of work, seemingly forget- 
ful of her misery. As she came in, she handed a number of 
sheets of typewriting to Van Helsing. He looked over them 
gravely, his face brightening up as he read. Then holding 
the pages between his finger and thumb he said : — 

“Friend John, to you with so much of experience already 
— and you, too, dear Madam Mina, that are young, — here 
is a lesson: do not fear ever to think. A half-thought has 
been buzzing often in my brain, but I fear to let him loose 
his wings. Here now, with more knowledge, I go back to 
where that half-thought come from, and I find that he be 
no half-thought at all ; that be a whole thought, though so 
young that he is not yet strong to use his little wings. Nay, 
like the “Ugly Duck” of my friend Hans Andersen, he be 
no duck- thought at all, but a big swan- thought that sail nobly 
on big wings, when the time come for him to try them. See 
I read here what Jonathan have written : — 

“That other of his race who, in a later age, again and 
again, brought his forces over The Great River into Turkey 
Land ; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again, 
and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody 
field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew 
that he alone could ultimately triumph.” 

“What does this tell us? Not much? no! The Count’s 
child-thought see nothing; therefore he speak so free. Your 
man-thought see nothing; my man-thought see nothing, till 
just now. No! But there comes another word from some 
one who speak without thought because she, too, know not 
tvhat it mean — what it might mean. Just as there are ele- 
ments which rest, yet when in nature’s course they move on 
their way and they touch — then pouf ! and there comes a flash 
of light, heaven wide, that blind and kill and destroy some ; 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 341 

but that show up all earth below for leagues and leagues. 
Is it not so? Well, I shall explain. To begin, have you ever 
study the philosophy of crime. ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’ You, John, 
yes; for it is a study of insanity. You, no, Madam Mina; 
for crime touch you not — not but once. Still, your mind 
works true, and argues not a particulari ad universale. There 
is this peculiarity in criminals. It is so constant, in all coun- 
tries and at all times, that even police, who know not much 
from philosophy, come to know it empirically, that it is. 
That is to be empiric. The criminal always work at one 
crime — that is the true criminal who seems predestinate to 
crime, and who will of none other. This criminal has not 
full man-brain. He is clever and cunning and resourceful ; 
but he be not of man-stature as to brain. He be of child- 
brain in much. Now this criminal of ours is predestinate to 
crime also; he, too, have child-brain, and it is of the child 
to do what he have done. The little bird, the little fish, the 
little animal learn not by principle, but empirically; and when 
he learn to do, then there is to him the ground to start from 
to do more. Dos pou stof said Archimedes. ‘Give me a 
fulcrum, and I shall move the world!’ To do once, is the 
fulcrum whereby child-brain become man-brain; and until 
he have the purpose to do more, he continue to do the same 
again every time, just as he have done before ! Oh, my dear, 
I see that your eyes are opened, and that to you the lightning 
flash show all the leagues,” for Mrs. Hsrker began to clap 
her hands and her eyes sparkled. He went on : — 

“Now you shall speak. Tell us two dry men of science 
what you see with those so bright eyes.” He took her hand 
and held it whilst she spoke. His finger and thumb closed 
on her pulse, as I thought instinctively and unconsciously, as 
she spoke : — 

“The Count is a criminal and of criminal type.. Nordau 
and Lombroso would so classify him, and qua criminal he 
is of imperfectly formed mind. Thus, in a difficulty he has 
to seek resource in habit. His past is a clue, and the one 
page of it that we know — and that from his own lips — tells 
that once before, when in what Mr. Morris would call a 
‘tight place/ he went back to his own country from the land 
he had tried to invade, and thence, without losing purpose, 
prepared himself for a new effort. He came again better 
equipped for his work ; and won. So he came to London to 
invade a new land. He was beaten, and when all hope of 


Dracula 


' 34 * 

success was lost, and his existence in danger, he fled back 
over the sea to his home; just as formerly he had fled back 
over the Danube from Turkey Land.” 

“Good, good! oh, you so clever lady?” said Van Helsing, 
enthusiastically, as he stooped and kissed her hand. A mo- 
ment later he said to me, as calmly as though we had been 
having a sick-room consultation : — 

“Seventy-two only; and in all this excitement. I have 
hope.” Turning to her again, he said with keen expecta- 
tion : — 

“But go on. Go on ! there is more to tell if you will. Be 
not afraid ; John and I know. I do in any case, and shall tell 
you if you are right. Speak, without fear!” 

“I will try to ; but you will forgive me if I seem egotisti- 
cal.” 

“Nay ! fear not, you must be egotist, for it is of you that 
we think.” 

“Then, as he is criminal he is selfish ; and as his intellect is 
small and his action is based on selfishness, he confines him- 
self to one purpose. That purpose is remorseless. As he 
fled back over the Danube, leaving his forces to be cut to 
pieces, so now he is intent on being safe, careless of all. So, 
his own selfishness frees my soul somewhat from the terrible 
power which he acquired over me on that dreadful night. 
I felt it! Oh, I felt it! Thank God, for His great mercy! 
My soul is freer than it has been since that awful hour ; and 
all that haunts me is a fear lest in some trance or dream he 
may have used my knowledge for his ends.” The Professor 
stood up : — 

“He has so used your mind ; and by it he has left us here 
in Varna, whilst the ship that carried him rushed through 
enveloping fog up to Galatz, where, doubtless, he had made 
preparation for escaping from us. But his child-mind only 
saw so far; and it may be that, as ever is in God’s Provi- 
dence, the very thing that the evil-doer most reckoned on 
for his selfish good, turns out to be his chiefest harm. The 
hunter is taken in his own snare, as the great Psalmist says, 
For now that he think he is free from every trace of us 
all, and that he has escaped us with so many hours to him, 
then his selfish child-brain will whisper him to sleep. He 
think, too, that as he cut himself off from knowing your 
mind, there can be no knowledge of him to you; there is 
where he fail ! That terrible baptism of blood which he give 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 343 

you makes you free to go to him in spirit, as you have as yet 
done in your times of freedom, when the sun rise and set. 
At such times you go by my volition and not by his ; and this 
power to good of you and others, you have won from your 
suffering at his hands. This is now all more precious that 
he know it not, and to guard himself have even cut himself 
off from his knowledge of our where. We, however, are not 
selfish, and we believe that God is with us through all thisr 
blackness, and these many dark hours. We shall follow him j 
and we shall not flinch ; even if we peril ourselves that we 
become like him. Friend John, this has been a great hour ; and 
it have done much to advance us on our way. You must be 
scribe and write him all down, so that when the others re- 
turn from their work you can give it to them ; then they shall 
know as we do.” 

And so I have written it whilst we wait their return, and 
Mrs. Harker has written with her typewriter all since she 
brought the M.S. to us. 


CHAPTER XXVT 

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 

29 October . — This is written in the train from Varna to 
Galatz. Last night we all assembled a little before the time 
of sunset. Each of us had done his work as well as he 
could ; so far as thought, and endeavour, and opportunity 
go, we are prepared for the whole of our journey, and for 
our work when we get to Galatz. When the usual time 
came round Mrs. Harker prepared herself for her hypnotic 
effort; and after a longer and more serious effort on the 
part of Van Helsing than has been usually necessary, she 
sank into the trance. Usually she speaks on a hint ; but this 
time the Professor had to ask her questions, and to ask them 
pretty resolutely, before we could learn anything ; at last her 
answer came : — 

“I can see nothing ; we are still ; there are no waves lap- 
ping, but only a steady swirl of water softly running against 
the hawser. I can hear men’s voices calling, near and far, 
and the roll and creak of oars in the rowlocks. A gun is 
fired somewhere; the echo of it seems far away. There is 
tramping of feet overhead, and ropes and chains are dragged 
along. What is this ? There is a gleam of light ; I can feel 
the air blowing upon me.” 

Here she stopped. She had risen, as if impulsively, from 
where she lay on the sofa, and raised both her hands, palms 
upwards, as if lifting a weight. Van Helsing and I looked 
at each other with understanding. Quincey raised his eye- 
brows slightly and looked at her intently, whilst Harker’s 
hand instinctively closed round the hilt of his Kukri. There 
was a long pause. We all knew that the time when she could 
speak was passing ; but we felt that it was useless to say any- 
thing. Suddenly she sat up, and, as she opened her eyes, said 
sweetly ; — 

“Would none of you like a cup of tea? You must all be 
so tired!” We could only make her happy, and so acqui- 
esced. She bustled off to get tea ; when she had gone Van 
Helsing said : — 

34 * 


Dr. SwarcTs Diary 345 

“You see, my friends. He is close to land : he has left his 
earth-chest. But he has yet to get on shore. In the night 
he may lie hidden somewhere; but if he be not carried on 
shore, or if the ship do not touch it, he cannot achieve the 
land. In such case he can, if it be in the night, change his 
form and can jump or fly on shore, as he did at Whitby. But 
if the day come before he get on shore, then, unless he be car- 
ried he cannot escape. And if he be carried, then the customs 
men may discover what the box contains. Thus, in fine, if he 
escape not on shore to-night, or before dawn, there will be 
the whole day lost to him. We may then arrive in time ; for 
if he escape not at night we shall come on him in daytime, 
boxed up and at our mercy ; for he dare not be his true self, 
awake and visible, lest he be discovered.” 

There was no more to be said, so we waited in patience 
until the dawn; at which time we might learn more from 
Mrs. Harker. 

Early this morning we listened, with breathless anxiety, 
for her response in her trance. The hypnotic stage was even 
longer in coming han before; and when it came the time 
remaining until full sunrise was so short that we began to 
despair. Van Helsing seemed to throw his whole soul into 
the effort ; at last, in obedience to his will she made reply : — 

“All is dark. I hear lapping water, level with me, and 
some creaking as of wood on wood.” She paused, and the 
red sun shot up. We must wait till to-night. 

And so it is that we are travelling towards Galatz in an 
agony of expectation. We are due to arrive between two and 
three in the morning ; but already, at Bucharest, we are three 
hours late, so we cannot possibly get in till well after sun- 
up. Thus we shall have two more hypnotic messages from 
Mrs. Harker; either or both may possibly throw more light 
on what is happening. 

Later . — Sunset has come and gone. Fortunately it came 
at a time when there was no distraction ; for had it occurred 
whilst we were at a station, we might not have secured the 
necessary calm and isolation. Mrs. Harker yielded to the 
hypnotic influence even less readily than this morning. I 
am in fear that her power of reading the Count’s sensations 
may die away, just when we want it most. It seems to me 
that her imagination is beginning to work. Whilst she has 
been in the trance hitherto she has confined herself to the 


Dracula 


346 

simplest of facts. If this goes on it may ultimately mislead 
us. If I thought that the Count’s power over her would die 
away equally with her power of knowledge it would be a 
happy thought ; but I am afraid that it may not be so. When 
she did speak, her words were enigmatical : — 

“Something is going out ; I can feel it pass me like a cold 
wind. I can hear, far off, confused sounds — as of men talk- 
ing in strange tongues, fierce-falling water, and the howling 
of wolves/’ She stopped and a shudder ran through her, in- 
creasing in intensity for a few seconds, till, at the end, she 
shook as though in a palsy. She said no more, even in an- 
swer to the Professor’s imperative questioning. When she 
woke from the trance, she was cold, and exhausted, and 
languid ; but her mind was all alert. She could not remem- 
ber anything, but asked what she had said; when she was 
told, she pondered over it deeply, for a long time and in 
silence. 

30 October, 7 a. in . — We are near Galatz now, and I may 
not have time to write later. Sunrise this morning was 
anxiously looked for by us all. Knowing of the increasing 
difficulty of procuring the hypnotic trance, Van Helsing be- 
gan his passes earlier than usual. They produced no effect, 
however, until the regular time, when she yielded with a 
still greater difficulty, only a minute before the sun rose. 
The Professor lost no time in his questioning; her answer 
came with equal quickness: — 

“All is dark. I hear water swirling by, level with my ears, 
and the creaking of wood on wood. Cattle low far off. 
There is another sound, a queer one like — ” she stopped and 
grew white, and whiter still. 

“Go on ; go on ! Speak, I command you !” said Van Hel- 
sing in an agonised voice. At the same time there was de- 
spair in his eyes, for the risen sun was reddening even Mrs. 
Harker’s pale face. She opened her eyes, and we all started 
as she said, sweetly and seemingly with the utmost uncon- 
cern : — 

“Oh, Professor, why ask me to do what you know I 
can’t? I don’t remember anything.” Then, seeing the look 
of amazement on our faces, she said, turning from one to the 
other with a troubled look : — 

“What have I said ? What have I done ? I know nothing, 
only that I was lying here, half asleep, and heard you sa? 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 347 

‘go on ! speak, I command you !’ It seemed so funny to hear 
you order me about, as if I were a bad child !” 

“Oh, Madam Mina,” he said, sadly, “it is proof, if proof 
be needed, of how I love and honour you, when a word for 
your good, spoken more earnest than ever, can seem so 
strange because it is to order her whom I am proud to 
obey!” 

The whistles are sounding; we are nearing Galatz. We 
are on fire with anxiety and eagerness. 

Mina Harkens Journal . 

30 October. — Mr. Morris took me to the hotel where our 
rooms had been ordered by telegraph, he being the one who 
could best be spared, since he does not speak any foreign 
language. The forces were distributed much as they had 
been at Varna, except that Lord Godaiming went to the Vice- 
Consul, as his rank might serve as an immediate guarantee 
of some sort to the official, we being in extreme hurry. Jona- 
than and the two doctors went to the shipping agent to learn 
particulars of the arrival of the Czarina Catherine . 

Later. — Lord Godaiming has returned. The Consul is 
away, and the Vice-Consul sick; so the routine work ha? 
been attended to by a clerk. He was very obliging, and of- 
fered to do anything in his power. 

Jonathan Harkens Journal . 

30 October. — At nine o'clock Dr. Van Helsing, Dr. Sew 
ard, and I called on Messrs. Mackenzie & Steinkoff, the 
agents of the London firm of Hapgood. They had received 
a wire from London, in answer to Lord Godaiming’s tele- 
graphed request, asking us to show them any civility in their 
power. They were more than kind and courteous, and took 
us at once on board the Czarina Catherine , which lay at am 
chor out in the river harbour. There we saw the Captain, 
Donelson by name, who told us of his voyage. He said that 
in all his life he had never had so favourable a run. 

“Man !” he said, “but it made us afeard, for we expeckit 
that we should have to pay for it wi’ some rare piece o’ ill 
luck, so as to keep up the average. It’s no canny to rua 
frae London to the Black Sea wi’ a wind ahint ye, as though 
the Deil himself were blawin’ on yer sail for his ain purpose. 


Dracula 


348 

An’ a’ the time we could no speer a thing. Gin we were nigh 
a ship, or a port, or a headland, a fog fell on us and travelled 
wi’ us, till when after it had lifted and we looked out, the deil 
a thing could we see. We ran by Gibraltar wi’oot bein’ able 
to signal ; an’ till we came to the Dardanelles, and had to wait 
to get our permit to pass, we never were within hail o’ aught. 
At first I inclined to slack off sail and beat about till the fog 
was lifted ; but whiles, I thocht that if the Deil was minded 
to get us into the Black Sea quick, he was like to do it 
whether we would or no. If we had a quick voyage it would 
be no to our miscredit wi’ the owners, or no hurt to our 
traffic ; an’ the Old Mon who had served his ain purpose wad 
be decently grateful to us for no hinderin’ him.” This mix- 
ture of simplicity and cunning, of superstition and com- 
mercial reasoning, aroused Van Helsing, who said : — 

“Mine friend, that Devil is more clever than he is thought 
by some ; and he know when he meet his match !” The skip- 
per was not displeased with the compliment, and went on : — * 
“When we got past the Bosphorus the men began to 
grumble; some o’ them, the Roumanians, came and asked 
me to heave overboard a big box which had been put on 
board by a queer lookin’ old man just before we had started 
frae London. I had seen them speer at the fellow, and put 
out their twa fingers when they saw him, to guard against 
the evil eye. Man! but the supersteetion of foreigners is 
pairfectly rideeculous ! I sent them aboot their business 
pretty quick ; but as just after a fog closed in on us, I felt a 
wee bit as they did anent something, though I wouldn’t say 
it was agin the bit box. Well, on we went, and as the fog 
didn’t let up for five days I joost let the wind carry us; for 
if the Deil wanted to get somewheres — well, he would fetch 
it up a’reet. An’ if he didn’t, well, we’d keep a sharp look 
out anyhow. Sure eneuch, we had a fair way and deep 
water all the time ; and two days ago, when the mornin’ sun 
came through the fog, we found ourselves just in the river 
opposite Galatz. The Roumanians were wild, and wanted 
me right or wrong to take out the box and fling it in the 
river. I had to argy wi’ them aboot it wi’ a handspike ; an’ 
when the last o’ them rose off the deck, wi’ his head in his 
hand, I had convinced them that, evil eye or no evil eye, the 
property and the trust of my owners were better in my hands 
than in the river Danube. They had, mind ye, taken the box 
on the deck ready to fling in, and as it was marked Galatz via 


Dr. SewarcTs Diary 349 

Varna, I thocht I’d let it lie till we discharged in the port an* 
get rid o’t athegither. We didn’t do much clearin’ that day, 
an’ had to remain the nicht at anchor ; but in the mornin’, 
braw an’ airly, an hour before sun-up, a man came aboard 
wi’ an order, written to him from England, to receive a box 
marked for one Count Dracula. Sure eneuch the matter was 
one ready to his hand. He had his papers a’ reet, an’ glad 
I was to be rid o’ the dam thing, for I was beginnin’ masel’ 
to feel uneasy at it. If the Deil did have any luggage aboord 
the ship, I’m thinkin’ it was nane ither than that same !” 

“What was the name of the man who took it?” asked Dr. 
Van Helsing with restrained eagerness. 

“I’ll be tellin’ ye quick !” he answered, and, stepping down 
to his cabin, produced a receipt signed “Immanuel Hilde- 
sheim.” Burgen-strasse 16 was the address. We found out 
that this was all the Captain knew ; so with thanks we came 
away. 

We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the 
Adelphi Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. 
His arguments were pointed with specie — we doing the 
punctuation — and with a little bargaining he told us what he 
knew. This turned out to be simple but important. He had 
received a letter from Mr. de Ville of London, telling him to 
receive, if possible before sunrise so as to avoid customs, a 
box which would arrive at Galatz in the Czarina Catherine. 
This he was to give in charge to a certain Petrof Skinsky, 
who dealt with the Slovaks who traded down the river to 
the port. He had been paid for his work by an English bank 
note, which had been duly cashed for gold at the Danube In- 
ternational Bank. When Skinsky had come to him, he had 
taken him to the ship and handed over the box, so as to save 
porterage. That was all he knew. 

We then sought for Skinsky, but were unable to find him. 
One of his neighbours, who did not seem to bear him any 
affection, said that he had gone away two days before, no 
one knew whither. This was corroborated by his landlord, 
who had received by messenger the key of the house together 
with the rent due, in English money. This had been be- 
tween ten and eleven o’clock last night. We were at a stand- 
still again. 

Whilst we were talking one came running and breathlessly 
gasped out that the body of Skinsky had been found inside 
the wall of the churchyard of St. Peter, and that the throat 


Dracula 


35 ° 

had been torn open as if by some wild animal. Those we had 
been speaking with ran off to see the horror, the women cry- 
ing out “This is the work of a Slovak !” We hurried away 
lest we should have been in some way drawn into the affair, 
and so detained. 

As we came home we could arrive at no definite conclusion. 
We were all convinced that the box was on its way, by water, 
to somewhere; but where that might be we would have to 
discover. With heavy hearts we came home to the hotel to 
Mina. 

When we met together, the first thing was to consult as to 
taking Mina again into our confidence. Things are getting 
desperate, and it is at least a chance, though a hazardous 
one. As a preliminary step, I was released from my promise 
to her. 

Mina Marker's Journal. 

30 October , evening. — They were so tired and worn out 
and dispirited that there was nothing to be done till they 
had some rest; so I asked them all to lie down for half an 
hour whilst I should enter everything up to the moment. I 
feel so grateful to the man who invented the “Traveller's” 
typewriter, and to Mr. Morris for getting this one for me. 
I should have felt quite astray doing the work if I had to 
write with a pen. . . . 

It is all done; poor dear, dear Jonathan, what he must 
have suffered, what must he be suffering now. He lies on 
the sofa hardly seeming to breathe, and his whole body ap- 
pears in collapse. His brows are knit ; his face is drawn with 
pain. Poor fellow, maybe he is thinking, and I can see his 
face all wrinkled up with the concentration of his thoughts. 
Oh ! if I could only help at all. ... I shall do what I 
c. n. 

i have asked Dr. Van Helsing, and he has got me all the 
papers that I have not yet seen. . . . Whilst they are rest- 
ing, I shall go over all carefully, and perhaps I may arrive 
at some conclusion. I shall try to follow the Professor’s ex- 
ample, and think without prejudice on the facts before 
me. . . . 

I do believe that under God’s providence I have made a 
discovery. I shall get the maps and look over them. . . . 

I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new con- 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 351 

elusion is ready, so I shall get our party together and read 
it. They can judge it; it is well to be accurate, and every 
minute is precious. 

Mina Harker’s Memorandum , 

(Entered in her Journal.) 

Ground of inquiry. — Count Dracula’s problem is to get 
back to his own place. 

(a) He must be brought back by some one. This is evi- 
dent; for had he power to move himself as he wished he 
could go either as man, or wolf, or bat, or in some other way. 
He evidently fears discovery or interference, in the state of 
helplessness in which he must be — confined as he is between 
dawn and sunset in his wooden box. 

( b ) How is he to be taken ? — Here a process of exclusions 
may help us. By road, by rail, by water ? 

1. By Road. — There are endless difficulties, especially in 
leaving the city. 

(x) There are people ; and people are curious, and investi- 
gate. A hint, a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the 
box, would destroy him. 

(y) There are, or there may be, customs and octroi of- 
ficers to pass. 

( z ) His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear; 
and in order to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so 
far as he can, even his victim — me ! 

2. By Rail. — There is no one in charge of the box. It 
would have to take its chance of being delayed; and delay 
would be fatal, with enemies on the track. True, he might 
escape at night; but what would he be, if left in a strange 
place with no refuge that he could fly to. This is not what 
he intends ; and he does not mean to risk it. 

3. By Water. — Here is the safest way, in one respect, but 
with most danger in another. On the water he is powerless 
except at night; even then he can only summon fog and 
storm and snow and his wolves. But were he wrecked, the 
living water would engulf him, helpless ; and he would in- 
deed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land ; but if 
it were unfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his 
position would still be desperate. 

We know from the record that he was on the water; so 
what we have to do is to ascertain what water. 


Dracula 


35 2 

The first thing is to realise exactly what he has done aa 
yet ; we may, then, get a light on what his later task is to be. 

Firstly . — We must differentiate between what he did in 
London as part of his general plan of action, when he was 
pressed for moments and had to arrange as best he could. 

Secondly we must see, as well as we can surmise it from 
the facts we know of, what he has done here. 

As to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, 
and sent invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascer- 
tain his means of exit from England ; his immediate and sole 
purpose then was to escape. The proof of this, is the letter 
of instructions sent to Immanuel Hildesheim to clear and 
take away the box before sunrise. There is also the instruc- 
tion to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at ; but 
there must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky 
came to Hildesheim. 

That, so far, his plans were successful we know. The 
Czarina Catherine made a phenomenally quick journey — so 
much so that Captain Donelson’s suspicions were aroused; 
but his superstition united with his canniness played the 
Count’s game for him, and he ran with his favouring wind 
through fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. 
That the Count’s arrangements were well made, has been 
proved. Hildesheim cleared the box, took it off, and gave 
it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it — and here we lose the trail. 
We only know that the box is somewhere on the water, mov- 
ing along. The customs and the octroi, if there be any, have 
been avoided. 

Now we come to what the Count must have done after his 
arrival — on land , at Galatz. 

The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise 
the Count could appear in his own form. Here, we ask why 
Skinsky was chosen at all to aid in the work? In my hus- 
band’s diary, Skinsky is mentioned as dealing with the Slo- 
vaks who trade down the river to the port; and the man’s 
remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed 
the general feeling against his class. The Count wanted iso- 
lation. 

My surmise is, this : that in London the Count decided to 
get back to his castle by water, as the most safe and secret 
way. He was brought from the castle by Szgany, and 
probably they delivered their cargo to Slovaks who took the 
boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped for Londoa 


Dr. Seward's Diary 333 

Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could 
arrange this service. When the box was on land, before 
sunrise or after sunset, he came out from his box, met 
Skinsky and instructed him what to do as to arranging the 
carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, and 
he knew that all was in train, he blotted out his traces, as he 
thought, by murdering his agent. 

I have examined the map and find that the river most 
suitable for the Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth 
or the Sereth. I read in the typescript that in my trance I 
heard cows low and water swirling level with my ears and 
the creaking of wood. The Count in his box, then, was on 
a river in an open boat — propelled probably either by oars 
or poles, for the banks are near and it is working against 
stream. There would be no such sound if floating down 
stream. 

Of course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, 
but we may possibly investigate further. Now of these two, 
the Pruth is the more easily navigated, but the Sereth is, 
at Fundu, joined by the Bistritza which runs up round the 
Borgo pass. The loop it makes is manifestly as close to Dra- 
cula’s castle as can be got by water. 

Mina Marker* s Journal — continued. 

When I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms 
and kissed me. The others kept shaking me by both hands, 
and Dr. Van Plelsing said : — 

“Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her 
eyes have been where we were blinded. Now we are on 
the track once again, and this time we may succeed. Our 
enemy is at his most helpless ; and if we can come on him 
by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, 
but he is powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box 
lest those who carry him may suspect; for them to suspect 
would be to prompt them to throw him in the stream where 
he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men, to our 
Council of War ; for, here and now, we must plan what each 
and all shall do.” 

“I shall get a steam launch and follow him,” said Lord 
Godaiming. 

“And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he 
land,” said Mr. Morris. 


Dracula 


354 

“Good!” said the Professor, “both good. But neither 
must go alone. There must be force to overcome force if 
need be ; the Slovak is strong and rough, and he carries rude 
arms.” All the men smiled, for amongst them they carried 
a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris : — 

“I have brought some Winchesters ; they are pretty handy 
in a crowed, and there may be wolves. The Count, if you 
remember, took some other precautions ; he made some requi- 
sitions on others that Mrs. Harker could not quite hear or 
understand. We must be ready at all points.” Dr. Seward 
said : — 

“I think I had better go with Quincey. We have been 
accustomed to hunt together, and we two, well armed, will be 
a match for whatever may come along. You must not be 
alone Art. It may be necessary to fight the Slovaks, and a 
chance thrust — for I don’t suppose these fellows carry guns 
— would undo all our plans. There must be no chances, this 
time ; we shall not rest until the Count’s head and body have 
been separated, and we are sure that he cannot re-incarnate.” 
He looked at Jonathan as he spoke, and Jonathan looked at 
me. I could see that the poor dear was torn about in his 
mind. Of course he wanted to be with me ; but then the boat 
service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy 
the.. .the.. .the.. .Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the 
word?) He was silent awhile, and during his silence Dr. 
Van Helsing spoke : — 

“Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, 
because you are young and brave and can fight, and all ener- 
gies may be needed at the last ; and again that it is your right 
to destroy him — that — which has wrought such woe to you 
and yours. Be not afraid for Madam Mina ; she will be my 
care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run 
as once ; and I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as 
need be, or to fight with lethal weapons. But I can be of 
other service; I can fight in other way. And I can die, if 
\ieed be, as well as younger men. Now let me say that what 
( would is this : while you, my Lord Godaiming, and friend 
Jonathan go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, 
and whilst John and Quincey guard the bank where per- 
chance he might be landed, I will take Madam Mina right 
into the heart of the enemy’s country. Whilst the old fox is 
tied in his box, floating on the running stream whence he 
cannot escape to land — where he dares not raise the lid of 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 35$ 

his coffin-box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave 
him to perish — we shall go in the track where Jonathan 
went, — from Bistritz over the Borgo, and find our way to the 
Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam Mina’s hypnotic power 
will surely help, and we shall find our way — all dark and un- 
known otherwise — after the first sunrise when we are near 
that fateful place. There is much to be done, and other 
places to be made sanctify, so that that nest of vipers be ob- 
literated.” Here Jonathan interrupted him hotly:- — 

“Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you 
would bring Mina, in her sad case and tainted as she is with 
that devil’s illness, right into the jaws of his death-trap? 
Not for the world ! Not for Heaven or Hell !” He became 
almost speechless for a minute, and then went on : — 

“Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that 
awful den of hellish infamy — with the very moonlight alive 
with grisly shapes, and every speck of dust that whirls in the 
wind a devouring monster in embryo? Have you felt the 
Vampire’s lips upon your throat?” Here he turned to me, 
and as his eyes lit on my forehead, he threw up his arms 
with a cry : “Oh, my God, what have we done to have this 
terror upon us !” and he sank down on the sofa in a collapse 
of misery. The Professor’s voice, as he spoke in clear, sweet 
tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed us all : — 
“Oh my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina 
from that awful place that I would go. God forbid that I 
should take her into that place. There is work — wild work 
— to be done there, that her eyes may not see. We men here, 
all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes what is to 
be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we 
are in terrible straits. If the Count escape us this time — 
and he is strong and subtle and cunning — he may choose to 
sleep him for a century ; and then in time our dear one” — he 
took my hand — “would come to him to keep him company, 
and would be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You 
have told us of their gloating lips ; you heard their ribald 
laugh as they clutched the moving bag that the Count threw 
to them. You shudder ; and well may it be. Forgive me that 
I make you so much pain, but it is necessary. My friend, is 
it not a dire need for the which I am giving, possibly my life? 
If it were that anyone went into that place to stay, it ic I 
who would have to go, to keep them company.” 


Dracula 


3 5 6 

“Do as you will;” said Jonathan, with a sob that shook 
him all over, “we are in the hands of God 1 ” 

Later. — “Oh, it did me good to see the way that these 
brave men worked. How can women help loving men when 
they are so earnest, and so true, and so brave ! And, too, it 
made me think of the wonderful power of money! What 
can it not do when it is properly applied ; and what might it 
do when basely used. I felt so thankful that Lord Godai- 
ming is rich, and that both he and Mr. Morris, who also has 
plenty of money, are willing to spend it so freely. For if 
they did not, our little expedition could not start, either so 
promptly or so well equipped, as it will within another hour. 
It is not three hours since it was arranged what part each of 
us was to do ; and now Lord Godaiming and Jonathan have 
a lovely steam launch, with steam up ready to start at a mo- 
ment’s notice. Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris have half a dozen 
good horses, well appointed. We have all the maps and ap- 
pliances of various kinds that can be had. Professor Van 
Helsing and I are to leave by the 1 1 140 train to-night for 
Veresti, where we are to get a carriage to drive to the Borgo 
Pass. We are bringing a good deal of ready money, as we 
are to buy a carriage and horses. We shall drive ourselves, 
for we have no one whom we can trust in the matter. The 
Professor knows something of a great many languages, so 
we shall get on all right. We have all got arms, even for me 
a large-bore revolver; Jonathan would not be happy unless 
I was armed like the rest. Alas ! I cannot carry one arm that 
the rest do ; the scar on my forehead forbids that. Dear Dr. 
Van Helsing comforts me by telling me that I am fully 
armed as there may be wolves ; the weather is getting colder 
every hour, and there are snow-flurries which come and go 
as warnings. 

Later . — It took all my courage to say good-bye to my 
darling. We may never meet again. Courage, Mina! the 
Professor is looking at you keenly; his look is a warning. 
There must be no tears now — unless it may be that God wilt 
let them fall in gladness. 

Jonathan Harker’s Journal. 

October 30. Night . — I am writing this in the light from 
the furnace door of the steam_launch ; Lord Godaiming is 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 357 

firing up. He is an experienced hand at the work, as he has 
had for years a launch of his own on the Thames, and an- 
other on the Norfolk Broads. Regarding our plans, we 
finally decided that Mina’s guess was correct, and that if 
any waterway was chosen for the Count’s escape back to his 
Castle, the Sereth and then the Bistritza at its junction, 
would be the one. We took it, that somewhere about the 
47th degree, north latitude, would be the place chosen for 
the crossing the country between the river and the Carpa- 
thians. We have no fear in running at good speed up the 
river at night; there is plenty of water, and the banks are 
wide enough apart to make steaming, even in the dark, easy 
enough. Lord Godaiming tells me to sleep for a while, as 
it is enough for the present for one to be on watch. But I 
cannot sleep — how can I with the terrible danger hanging 
over my darling, and her going out into that awful place. . 
. . . My only comfort is that we are in the hands of God. 

Only for that faith it would be easier to die than to live, and 
so be quit of all the trouble. Mr. Morris and Dr. Seward 
were off on their long ride before we started ; they are to 
keep up the right bank, far enough off to get on higher lands 
where they can see a good stretch of river and avoid the fol- 
lowing of its curves. They have, for the first stages, two 
men to ride and lead their spare horses — four in all, so as 
not to excite curiosity. When they dismiss the men, which 
shall be shortly, they shall themselves look after the horses. 
It may be necessary for us to join forces ; if so they can 
mount our whole party. One of the saddles has a movable 
horn, and can be easily adapted for Mina, if required. 

It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing 
along through the darkness, with the cold from the river 
seeming to rise up and strike us; with all the mysterious 
voices of the night around us, it all comes home. We seem 
to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways ; into 
a whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godaiming is 
shutting the furnace door. . . . 

31 October . — Still hurrying along. The day has come, 
and Godaiming is sleeping. I am on watch. The morning 
is bitterly cold ; the furnace heat is grateful, though we have 
heavy fur coats. As yet we have passed only a few open 
boats, but none of them had on board any box or package 
©f anything like the size of the one we seek. The men were 


Dracula 


358 

scared every time we turned our electric lamp on them, and 
fell on their knees and prayed. 

1 November, evening . — No news all day; we have found 
nothing of the kind we seek. We have now passed into the 
Bistritza ; and if we are wrong in our surmise our chance is 
gone. We have overhauled every boat, big and little. Early 
this morning, one crew took us for a Government boat, and 
treated us accordingly. We saw in this a way of smoothing 
matters, so at Fundu, where the Bistritza runs into the Se- 
reth, we got a Roumanian flag which we now fly conspicu- 
ously. With every boat which we have overhauled since then 
this trick has succeeded ; we have had every deference shown 
to us, and not once any objection to whatever we chose to ask 
or do. Some of the Slovaks tell us that a big boat passed 
them, going at more than usual speed as she had a double 
crew on board. This was before they came to Fundu, so they 
could not tell us whether the boat turned into the Bistritza 
or continued on up the Sereth. At Fundu we could not hear 
of any such boat, so she must have passed there in the night. 
I am feeling very sleepy ; the cold is perhaps beginning to tell 
upon me, and nature must have rest some time. Godaiming 
insists that he shall keep the first watch. God bless him for 
all his goodness to poor dear Mina and me. 

2 November, morning . — It is broad daylight. That good 
fellow would not wake me. He says it would have been a sin 
to, for I slept so peacefully and was forgetting my trouble. 
It seems brutally selfish to me to have slept so long, and 
let him watch all night ; but he was quite right. I am a new 
man this morning ; and, as I sit here and watch him sleeping, 

I can do all that is necessary both as to minding the engine, 
steering, and keeping watch. I can feel that my strength 
and energy are coming back to me. I wonder where Mina 
is now, and Van Helsing. They should have got to Veresti 
about noon on Wednesday. It would take them some time 
to get the carriage and horses; so if they had started and 
travelled hard, they would be about now at the Borgo Pass. 
God guide and help them ! I am afraid to think what may 
happen. If we could only go faster ! but we cannot ; the en- 
gines are throbbing and doing their utmost. I wonder how 
Dr. Seward and Mr. Morris are getting on. There seem 
to be endless streams running down from the mountains into 


Dr. Seward’s Diary 359 

this river, but as none of them are very large — at present, 
at all events, though they are terrible doubtless in winter and 
when the snow melts — the horsemen may not have met much 
obstruction. I hope that before we get to Strasba we may see 
them ; for if by that time we have not overtaken the Count, 
it may be necessary to take counsel together what to do next. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

2 November. — Three days on the road. No news, and no 
time to write it if there had been, for every moment is pre- 
cious. We have had only the rest needful for the horses ; but 
*ve are both bearing it wonderfully. Those adventurous days 
of ours are turning up useful. We must push on ; we shall 
never feel happy till we get the launch in sight again. 

3 November. — We heard at Fundu that the launch had 
gone up the Bistritza. I wish it wasn’t so cold. There are 
signs of snow coming; and if it falls heavy it will stop us. 
In such case we must get a sledge and go on, Russian fash- 
ion. 

4 November. — To-day we heard of the launch having 
been detained by an accident when trying to force a way up 
the rapid. The Slovak boats get up all right, by aid of a 
rope, and steering with knowledge. Some went up only a 
few hours before. Godaiming is an amateur fitter himself, 
and evidently it was he who put the launch in trim again. 
Finally, they got up the Rapids all right, with local help, and 
are off on the chase afresh. I fear that the boat is not any 
better for the accident ; the peasantry tell us that after she 
got upon the smooth water again, she kept stopping every 
now and again so long as she was in sight. We must push 
on harder than ever ; our help may be wanted soon. 

Mina Harkens Journal. 

31 October. — Arrived at Veresti at noon. The Professor 
tells me that this morning at dawn he could hardly hypnotise 
me at all, and that all I could say was : “dark and quiet.’’ He 
is off now buying a carriage and horses. He says that he 
will later on try to buy additional horses, so that we may be 
able to change them on the way. We have something more 
than 70 miles before us. The country is lovely, and most 


Dracula 


360 

interesting; if only we were under different conditions, how 
delightful it would be to see it all. If Jonathan and I were 
driving through it alone what a pleasure it would be. To 
stop and see people, and learn something of their life, and to 
fill our minds and memories with all the colour and pictur- 
esqueness of the whole wild, beautiful country and the quaint 
people ! But, alas ! — 

Later. — Dr. Van Helsing has returned. He has got the 
carriage and horses ; we are to have some dinner, and to start 
in an hour. The landlady is putting us up a huge basket of 
provisions ; it seems enough for a company of soldiers. The 
Professor encourages her, and whispers to me that it may be 
a week before we can get any good food again. He has been 
shopping too, and has sent home such a wonderful lot of fur 
coats and wraps, and all sorts of warm things. There will 
not be any chance of our being cold. 


We shall soon be off. I am afraid to think what may hap- 
pen to us. We are truly in the hands of God. He alone 
knows what may be, and I pray Him, with all the strength 
of my sad and humble soul, that He will watch over my be- 
loved husband; that whatever may happen, Jonathan may 
know that I loved him and honoured him more than I can 
say, and that my latest and truest thought will be always for 
him. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

MINA HARKER’s JOURNAL 

i November. — All day long we have travelled, and at a 
good speed. The horses seem to know that they are being 
kindly treated, for they go willingly their full stage at best 
speed. We have now had so many changes and find the 
same thing so constantly that we are encouraged to think 
that the journey will be an easy one. Dr. Van Helsing is 
laconic ; he tells the farmers that he is hurrying to Bistritz, 
and pays them well to make the exchange of horses. We 
get hot soup, or coffee, or tea ; and off we go. It is a lovely 
country; full of beauties of all imaginable kinds, and the 
people are brave, and strong, and simple, and seem full of 
nice qualities. They are very , very superstitious. In the 
first house where we stopped, when the woman who served 
us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed herself and put 
out two fingers towards me, to keep off the evil eye. I be- 
lieve they went to the trouble of putting an extra amount of 
garlic into our food; and I can’t abide garlic. Ever since 
then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so 
have escaped their suspicions. We are travelling fast, and as 
we have no driver with us to carry tales, we go ahead of 
scandal ; but I daresay that fear of the evil eye will follow 
hard behind us all the way. The Professor seems tireless ; 
all day he would not take any rest, though he made me sleep 
for a long spell. At sunset time he hypnotised me, and he 
says that I answered as usual “darkness, lapping water and 
creaking wood ;” so our enemy is still on the river. I am 
afraid to think of Jonathan, but somehow I have now no 
fear for him, or for myself. I write this whilst we wait in a 
farmhouse for the horses to be got ready. Dr. Van Helsing 
is sleeping. Poor dear, he looks very tired and old and grey, 
but his mouth is set as firmly as a conqueror’s ; even in his 
sleep he is instinct with resolution. When we have well 
started I must make him rest whilst I drive. I shall tell him 
that we have days before us, and he must not break down 

1 


Dracula 


362 

when most of all his strength will be needed .... All 
is ready ; we are off shortly. 

2 November, morning. — I was successful, and we took 
turns driving all night ; now the day is on us, bright though 
cold. There is a strange heaviness in the air — I say heavi- 
ness for want of a better word ; I mean that it oppresses us 
both. It is very cold, and only our warm furs keep us com- 
fortable. At dawn Van Helsing hypnotised me; he says I 
answered “darkness, creaking wood and roaring water,” so 
the river is changing as they ascend. I do hope that my 
darling will not run any chance of danger — more than need 
be ; but we are in God’s hands. 

2 November, night. — All day long driving. The country 
gets wilder as we go, and the great spurs of the Carpathians, 
which at Veresti seemed so far from us and so low on the 
horizon, now seem to gather round us and tower in front. 
We both seem in good spirits ; I think we make an effort each 
to cheer the other; in the doing so we cheer ourselves. Dr. 
Van Helsing says that by morning we shall reach the Borgo 
Pass. The houses are very few here now, and the Professor 
says that the last horses we got will have to go on with us, 
as we may not be able to change. He got two in addition 
to the two we changed, so that now we have a rude four-in- 
hand. The dear horses are patient and good, and they give 
us no trouble. We are not worried with other travellers, and 
so even I can drive. We shall get to the Pass in daylight ; 
we do not want to arrive before. So we take it easy, and 
have each a long rest in turn. Oh, what will to-morrow 
bring to us? We go to seek the place where my poor darling 
suffered so much. God grant that we may be guided aright, 
and that He will deign to watch over my husband and those 
dear to us both, and who are in such deadly peril. As for me, 
I am not worthy in His sight. Alas! I am unclean to His 
eyes, and shall be until He may deign to let me stand forth 
in His sight as one of those who have not incurred His 
wrath. 

Memorandum by Abraham Van Helsing. 

4 November. — This to my old and true friend John Sew- 
ard, M.D., of Purfleet, London, in case I may not see him. 
It may' explain. It is morning, and I write by a fire which 


Mina Harker’s Journal 363 

all the night I have kept alive — Madam Mina aiding me. It 
is cold, cold; so cold that the grey heavy sky is full of snow, 
which when it falls will settle for all winter as the ground is 
hardening to receive it. It seems to have affected Madam 
Mina ; she has been so heavy of head all day that she was 
not like herself. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps ! She, 
who is usual so alert, have done literally nothing all the day ; 
she even have lost her appetite. She make no entry into her 
little diary, she who write so faithful at every pause. Some- 
thing 'whisper to me that all is not well. However, to-night 
she is more vif. Her long sleep all day have refresh and re- 
store her, for now she is all sweet and bright as ever. At sun- 
set I try to hypnotise her, but alas ! with no effect ; the power 
has grown less and less with each day, and to-night it fail 
me altogether. Well, God’s will be done — whatever it may 
be, and whithersoever it may lead ! 

Now to the historical, for as Madam Mina write not in her 
stenography, I must, in my cumbrous old fashion, that so 
each day of us may not go unrecorded. 

We got to the Borgo Pass just after sunrise yesterday 
morning. When I saw the signs of the dawn I got ready 
for the hypnotism. We stopped our carriage, and got down 
so that there might be no disturbance. I made a couch with 
furs, and Madam Mina, lying down, yield herself as usual, 
but more slow and more short time than ever, to the hypnotic 
sleep. As before, came the answer : “darkness and the swirl- 
ing of water.” Then she woke, bright and radiant, and we 
go on our way and soon reach the Pass. At this time and 
place she become all on fire with zeal; some new guiding 
power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and 
say: — 

“This is the way.” 

“How know you it ?” I ask. 

“Of course I know it,” she answer, and with a pause, 
add : “Have not my Jonathan travelled it and wrote of his 
travel ?” 

At first I think somewhat strange, but soon I see that there 
be only one such by-road. It is used but little, and very dif- 
ferent from the coach road from the Bukovina to Bistritz, 
which is more wide and hard, and more of use. 

So we came down this road ; when we meet other ways— 
not always were we sure that they were roads at all, for they 
be neglect and light snow have fallen— the horses know and 


Dracula 


3 6 4 

they only. I give rein to them, and they go on so patient 
By-and-by we find all the things which Jonathan have note in 
that wonderful diary of him. Then we go on for long, long 
hours and hours. At the first, 1 tell Madam Mina to sleep ; 
she try, and she succeed. She sleep all the time ; till at the 
last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake 
her. But she sleep on, and I may not wake her though I try. 
I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm her; for I know 
that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be all — in — all 
to her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel guilt, 
as though I have done something ; I find myself bolt up, with 
the reins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, 
just as ever. I look down and find Madam Mina still sleep. 
It is now not far off sunset time, and over the snow the light 
of the sun flow in big yellow flood, so that we throw great 
long shadow on where the mountain rise so steep. For we 
are going up, and up ; and all is oh 1 so wild and rocky, as 
though it were the end of the world. 

Then I arouse Madam Mina. This time she wake with 
not much trouble, and then I try to put her to hypnotic sleep. 
But she sleep not, being as though I were not. Still I try 
and try, till all at once I find her and myself in dark ; so I 
look round, and find that the sun have gone down. Madam 
Mina laugh, and I turn and look at her. She is now quite 
awake, and look so well as I never saw her since that night 
at Carfax when we first enter the Count’s house. I am 
amaze, and not at ease then ; but she is so bright and tender 
and thoughtful for me that I forget all fear. I light a fire, 
for we have brought supply of wood with us, and she pre- 
pare food while I undo the horses and set them, tethered in 
shelter, to feed. Then when I return to the fire she have my 
supper ready. I go to help her; but she smile, and tell me 
that she have eat already — that she was so hungry that she 
would not wait. I like it not, and I have grave doubts ; but 
I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it. She help me 
and I eat alone ; and then we wrap in fur and lie beside the 
fire, and I tell her to sleep while I watch. But presently I 
forget all of watching ; and when I sudden remember that I 
watch, I find her lying quiet, but awake, and looking at me 
with so bright eyes. Once, twice more the same occur, and 
I get much sleep till before morning. When I wake I try to 
hypnotise her ; but alas ! though she shut her eyes obedient, 
she may not sleep. The sun rise up, and up, and up; and 


Mina Harker’s Journal 365 

then sleep come to her too late, but so heavy that she will not 
wake. I have to lift her up, and place her sleeping in the 
carriage when I have harnessed the horses and made all 
ready. Madam still sleep, and sleep ; and she look in her 
sleep more healthy and more redder than before. And I like 
it not. And I am afraid, afraid, afraid ! — I am afraid of all 
things — even to think ; but I must go on my way. The stake 
we play for is life and death, or more than these, and we 
must not flinch. 

5 November, morning . — Let me be accurate in everything, 

, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, 
you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad — 
I that the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has 
1. at the last turn my brain. 

All yesterday we travel, ever getting closer to the moun- 
tains, and moving into a more and more wild and desert land. 
There are great, frowning precipices and much falling water, 
and Nature seem to have held sometime her carnival. Madam 
Mina still sleep and sleep; and though I did have hunger 
and appeased it, I could not waken her — even for food. I 
began to fear that the fatal spell of the place was upon her, 
tainted as she is with that Vampire baptism. “Well,” said I 
to myself, “if it be that she sleep all the day, it shall also be 
that I do not sleep at night.” As we travel on the rough 
! road, for a road of an ancient and imperfect kind there was, 
I held down my head and slept. Again I waked with a sense 
of guilt and of time passed, and found Madam Mina still 
i sleeping, and the sun low down. But all was indeed changed ; 
’ the frowning mountains seemed further away, and we were 
1 near the top of a steep-rising hill, on summit of which was 
such a castle as Jonathan tell of in his diary. At once I ex- 
ulted and feared ; for now, for good or ill, the end was near. 

I woke Madam Mina, and again tried to hypnotise her ; but 
1 alas ! unavailing till too late. Then, ere the great dark came 
upon us — for even after down-sun the heavens reflected the 
gone sun on the snow, and all was for a time in a great twi- 
light— I took out the horses and fed them in what shelter I 
could. Then I make a fire ; and near it I make Madam Mina, 
now awake and more charming than ever, sit comfortable 
amid her rugs. I got ready food : but she would not eat, 
simply saying that she had not hunger. I did not press her, 
knowing her unavailingness. But I myself eat, for I must 


Dracula 


366 

needs now be strong for all. Then, with the fear on me of 
what might be, I drew a ring so big for her comfort, round 
where Madam Mina sat ; and over the ring I passed some^of 
the wafer, and I broke it fine so that all was well guarded. 
She sat still all the time — so still as one dead ; and she grew 
whiter and ever whiter till the snow was not more pale ; and 
no word she said. But when I drew near, she clung to me, 
and I could know that the poor soul shook her from head to 
feet with a tremor that was pain to feel. I said to her pres- 
ently, when she had grown more quiet : — 

“Will you not come over to the fire ?” for I wished to make 
a test of what she could. She rose obedient, but when she 
have made a step she stopped, and stood as one stricken. 

“Why not go on?” I asked. She shook her head, and, 
coming back, sat down in her place. Then, looking at me 
with open eyes, as of one waked from sleep, she said sim- 
pty:— 

“I cannot!” and remained silent. I rejoiced, for I knew 
that what she could not, none of those that we dreaded could. 
Though there might be danger to her body, yet her soul was 
safe ! 

Presently the horses began to scream, and tore at their 
tethers till I came to them and quieted them. When they 
did feel my hands on them, they whinnied low as in joy, and 
licked at my hands and were quiet for a time. Many times 
through the night did I come to them, till it arrive to the 
cold hour when all nature is at lowest; and every time my 
coming was with quiet of them. In the cold hour the fire 
began to die, and I was about stepping forth to replenish it, 
for now the snow came in flying sweeps and with it a chill 
mist. Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as 
there ever is over snow ; and it seemed as though the snow- 
flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with 
trailing garments. All was in dead, grim silence only that 
the horses whinnied and cowered, as if in terror of the worst. 
I began to fear — horrible fears; but then came to me the 
sense of safety in that ring wherein I stood. I began, too, to 
think that my imaginings were of the night, and the gloom, 
and the unrest that I have gone through, and all the terrible 
anxiety. It was as though my memories of all Jonathan’s 
horrid experience were befooling me ; for the snow flakes 
and the mist began to wheel and circle round, till I could get 
as though a shadowy glimpse of those women that would 


Mina Harker’s Journal 367 

have kissed him. And then the horses cowered lower and 
lower, and moaned in terror as men do in pain. Even the 
madness of fright was not to them, so that they could break 
away. I feared for my dear Madam Mina when these weird 
figures drew near and circled round. I looked at her, but 
she sat calm, and smiled at me; when I would have stepped 
to the fire to replenish it, she caught me and held me back, 
and whispered, like a voice that one hears in a dream, so low 
it was : — 

“No! No! Do not go without. Here you are safe !” I 
turned to her, and looking in her eyes, said : — 

“But you ? It is for you that I fear !” whereat she laughed 
— a laugh, low and unreal, and said: — 

“Fear for me! Why fear for me? None safer in all the 
world from them than I am,” and as I wondered at the mean- 
ing of her words, a puff of wind made the flame leap up, and 
I see the red scar on her forehead. Then, alas ! I knew. Did 
I not, I would soon have learned, for the wheeling figures of 
mist and snow came closer, but keeping ever without the 
Holy circle. Then they began to materialise, till — if God 
have not take away my reason, for I saw it through my eyes 
— there were before me in actual flesh the same three women 
that Jonathan saw in the room, when they would have kissed 
his throat. I knew the swaying round forms, the bright hard 
eyes, the white teeth, the ruddy colour, the voluptuous lips. 
They smiled ever at poor dear Madam Mina ; and as their 
laugh came through the silence of the night, they twined 
their arms and pointed to her, and said in those so sweet 
tingling tones that Jonathan said were of the intolerable 
sweetness of the water-glasses : — 

“Come, sister. Come to us. Come ! Come !” In fear 
I turned to my poor Madam Mina, and my heart with glad- 
ness leapt like flame ; for oh ! the terror in her sweet eyes, the 
repulsion, the horror, told a story to my heart that was all of 
hope. God be thanked she was not, yet, of them. I seized 
some of the firewood which was by me, and holding out some 
of the Wafer, advanced on them towards the fire. They 
drew back before me, and laughed their low horrid laugh. I 
fed the fire, and feared them not ; for I knew that we were 
safe within our protections. They could not approach me, 
whilst so armed, nor Madam Mina whilst she remained 
within the ring-, which she could not leave no more than they 
could enter. The horses had ceased to moan, and lay still on 


Dracula 


368 

the ground; the snow fell on them softly, and they grew 
whiter. I knew that there was for the poor beasts no more 
of terror. 

And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall 
through the snow-gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and 
full of woe and terror ; but when that beautiful sun began to 
climb the horizon life was to me again. At the first coming 
of the dawn the horrid figures melted in the whirling mist 
and snow; the wreaths of transparent gloom moved away 
towards the castle, and were lost. 

Instinctively, with the dawn coming, I turned to Madam 
Mina, intending to hypnotise her ; but she lay in a deep and 
sudden sleep, from which I could not wake her. I tried to 
hypnotise through her sleep, but she made no response, none 
at all ; and the day broke. I fear yet to stir. I have made 
my fire and have seen the horses, they are all dead. To-day 
I have much to do here, and I keep waiting till the sun is up 
high ; for there may be places where I must go, where that 
sunlight, though snow and mist obscure it, will be to me a 
safety. 

I will strengthen me with breakfast, and then I will to my 
terrible work. Madam Mina still sleeps ; and, God be 
thanked ! she is calm in her sleep. . . . 

Jonathan Harkens Journal . 

4 November, evening . — The accident to the launch has 
been a terrible thing for us. Only for it we should have 
overtaken the boat long ago; and by now my dear Mina 
would have been free. I fear to think of her, off on the 
wolds near that horrid place. We have got horses, and we 
follow on the track. I note this whilst Godaiming is getting 
ready. We have our arms. The Szgany must look out if 
they mean fight. Oh, if only Morris and Seward were with 
us. We must only hope ! If I write no more Good-bye 
Mina ! God bless and keep you. 

Dr. Seward's Diary. 

5 November . — With the dawn we saw the body of Szgany 
before us dashing away from the river with their leiter- 
wagon. They surrounded it in a cluster, and hurried along 
as though beset. The snow is falling lightly and there is a 


Mina Marker’s Journal 369 

strange excitement in the air. It may be our own feelings, 
but the depression is strange. Far off I hear the howling 
of wolves ; the snow brings them down from the mountains, 
and there are dangers to all of us, and from all sides. The 
horses are nearly ready, and we are soon off. We ride to 
death of some one. God alone knows who, or where, or 
what, or when, or how it may be. . . . 

Dr. Van Helsing’s Memorandum. 

5 November , afternoon . — I am at least sane. Thank God 
for that mercy at all events, though the proving it has been 
dreadful. When I left Madam Mina sleeping within the 
Holy circle, I took my way to the castle. The blacksmith 
hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti was use- 
ful ; though the doors were all open I broke them off the 
rusty hinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close 
them, so that being entered I might not get out. Jonathan’s 
bitter experience served me here. By memory of his diary 
I found my way to the old chapel, for I knew that here my 
work lay. The air was oppressive ; it seemed as if there was 
some sulphurous fume, which at times made me dizzy. Either 
there was a roaring in my ears or I heard afar off the howl 
of wolves. Then I bethought me of my dear Madam Mina, 
and I was in terrible plight. The dilemma had me between 
his horns. Her, I had not dare to take into this place, but 
left safe from the Vampire in that Holy circle ; and yet even 
there would be the wolf! I resolve me that my work lay 
here, and that as to the wolves we must submit, if it were 
God’s will. At any rate it was only death and freedom be- 
yond. So did I choose for her. Had it but been for myself 
the choice had been easy, the maw of the wolf were better 
to rest in than the grave of the Vampire! So I make my 
choice to go on with my work. 

I knew that there were at least three graves to find- 
graves that are inhabit; so I search, and search, and I find 
one of them. She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life 
and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come 
to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such 
things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task 
as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his 
nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere 
beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hyp- 

(24) 


Dracula 


37 ° 

notise him ; and he remain on, and on, till sunset come, and 
the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the 
fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth 
present to a kiss — and man is weak. And there remain one 
more victim in the Vampire fold ; one more to swell the grim 
and grisly ranks of the Un-dead ! . . . . 

There is some fascination, surely, when I am moved by the 
mere presence of such an one, even lying as she lay in a tomb 
fretted with age and heavy with the dust of centuries, though 
there be that horrid odour such as the lairs of the Count 
have had. Yes, I was moved — I, Van Helsing, with all my 
purpose and with my motive for hate — I was moved to a 
yearning for delay which seemed to paralyse my faculties 
and to clog my very soul. It may have been that the need 
of natural sleep, and the strange oppression of the air were 
beginning to overcome me. Certain it was that I was lapsing 
into sleep, the open-eyed sleep of one who yields to a sweet 
fascination, when there came through the snow-stilled air a 
long, low wail, so full of woe and pity that it woke me like 
the sound of a clarion. For it was the voice of my dear 
Madam Mina that I heard. 

Then I braced myself again to my horrid task, and found 
by wrenching away tomb-tops one other of the sisters, the 
other dark one. I dared not pause to look on her as I had on 
her sister, lest once more I should begin to be enthrall ; but 
I go on searching until, presently, I find in a high great tomb 
as if made to one much beloved that other fair sister which, 
like Jonathan I had seen to gather herself out of the atoms 
of the mist. She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beauti- 
ful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man 
in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one 
of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion. But God be 
thanked, that soul-wail of my dear Madam Mina had not 
died out of my ears ; and, before the spell could be wrought 
further upon me, I had nerved myself to my wild work. By 
this time I had searched all the tombs in the chapel, so far as 
I could tell ; and as there had been only three of these Un- 
Dead phantoms around us in the night, I took it that there 
were no more of active Un-Dead existent. There was one 
great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and 
nobly proportioned. On it was but one word 


DRACULA. 


Mina Harker’s Journal 


37 1 


This then was the Un-Dead home of the King-Vampire, to 
whom so many more were due. Its emptiness spoke eloquent 
to make certain what I knew. Before I began to restore these 
women to their dead selves through my awful work, I laid in 
Dracula’s tomb some of the Wafer, and so banished him 
from it, Un-Dead, for ever. 

Then began my terrible task, and, I dreaded it. Had it 
been but one, it had been easy, comparative. But three ! To 
begin twice more after I had been through a deed of horror ; 
for if it was terrible with the sweet Miss Lucy, what would 
it not be with these strange ones who had survived through 
centuries, and who had been strengthened by the passing of 
the years; who would, if they could, have fought for their 
foul lives. . . . 

Oh, my friend John, but it was butcher work; had I not 
been nerved by thoughts of other dead, and of the living over 
whom hung such a pall of fear, I could not have gone on. I 
tremble and tremble even yet, though till all was over, God 
be thanked, my nerve did stand. Had I not seen the repose 
in the first place, and the gladness that stole over it just ere 
the final dissolution came, as realisation that the soul had 
been won, I could not have gone further with my butchery. 
I could not have endured the horrid screeching as the stake 
drove home; the plunging of writhing form, and lips of 
bloody foam. I should have fled in terror and left my work 
undone. But it is over ! And the poor souls, I can pity them 
now and weep, as I think of them placid each in her full 
sleep of death, for a short moment ere fading. For, friend 
John, hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before 
the whole body began to melt away and crumble into its na- 
tive dust, as though the death that should have come centu- 
ries agone had at last assert himself and say at once and loud 
“I am here!” 

Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never 
more can the Count enter there Un-dead. 

When I stepped into the circle where Madam Mina slept, 
she woke from her sleep, and, seeing me, cried out in pain 
that I had endured too much. 

“Come !” she said, “come away from this awful place ! Let 
us go to meet my husband who is, I know, coming towards 
us.” She was looking thin and pale and weak ; but her eyes 
were pure and glowed with fervour. I was glad to see her 


Dracula 


37 2 

paleness and her illness, for my mind was full of the fresh 
horror of that ruddy vampire sleep. 

And so with trust and hope, and yet full of fear, we go 
eastward to meet our friends — and him — whom Madam 
Mina tell me that she know are coming to meet us. 

Mina Harker’s Journal. 

6 November . — It was late in the afternoon when the Pro- 
fessor and I took our way towards the east whence I knew 
Jonathan was coming. We did not go fast, though the way 
was steeply downhill, for we had to take heavy rugs and 
wraps with us; we dared not face the possibility of being 
left without warmth in the cold and the snow. We had to 
take some of our provisions too, for we were in a perfect 
desolation, and, so far as we could see through the snow- 
fall, there was not even the sign of habitation. When we 
had gone about a mile, I was tired with the heavy walking 
and sat down to rest. Then we looked back and saw where 
the clear line of Dracula’s castle cut the sky; for we were 
so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the angle of 
perspective pf the Carpathian mountains was far below it. 
We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the 
summit of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap 
between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any 
side. There was something wild and uncanny about the 
place. We could hear the distant howling of wolves. They 
were far off, but the sound, even though coming muffled 
through the deadening snowfall, was full of terror. I knew 
from the way Dr. Van Helsing was searching about that he 
was trying to seek some strategic point, where we would be 
less exposed in case of attack. The rough roadway still led 
downwards ; we could trace it through the drifted snow. 

In a little while the Professor signalled to me, so I got up 
and joined him. He had found a wonderful spot, a sort of 
natural hollow in a rock, with an entrance like a doorway be- 
tween two boulders. He took me by the hand and drew me 
in : “See !” he said, “here you will be in shelter ; and if the 
wolves do come I can meet them one by one.” He brought 
in our furs, and made a snug nest for me, and got out some 
provisions and forced them upon me. But I could not eat; 
to even try to do so was repulsive to me, and, much as I 
would have liked to please him, I could not bring myself to 
the attempt. He looked very sad, but did not reproach me. 


Mina Harker’s Journal 3 73 

Taking his field-glasses from the case, he stood on the top of 
the rock, and began to search the horizon. Suddenly he 
called out : — 

“Look! Madam Mina, look! look!” I sprang up and 
stood beside him on the rock ; he handed me his glasses and 
pointed. The snow was now falling more heavily, and 
swirled about fiercely, for a high wind was beginning to 
blow. However there were times when there were pauses 
between the snow flurries and I could see a long way round. 
From the height where we were it was possible to see a 
great distance ; and far off, beyond the white waste of snow, 
1 could see the river lying like a black ribbon in kinks and 
curls as it wound its way. Straight in front of us and not far 
off — in fact so near that I wondered we had not noticed be- 
fore — came a group of mounted men hurrying along. In 
the midst of them was a cart, a long leiter-wagon which 
swept from side to side, like a dog’s tail wagging, with each 
stern inequality of the road. Outlined against the snow as 
they were, I could see from the men’s clothes that they were 
peasants or gypsies of some kind. 

On the cart was a great square chest. My heart leaped as 
I saw it, for I felt that the end was coming. The evening 
was now drawing close, and well I knew that at sunset the 
Thing, which was till then imprisoned there, would take new 
freedom and could in any of many forms elude all pursuit. 
In fear I turned to the Professor ; to my consternation, how- 
ever, he was not there. An instant later. I saw him below 
me. Round the rock he had drawn a circle, such as we had 
found shelter in last night. When he had completed it he 
stood beside me again, saying : — 

“At least you shall be safe here from hint!” He took the 
glasses from me, and at the next lull of the snow swept the 
whole space below us. “See,” he said, “they come quickly ; 
they are flogging the horses, and galloping as hard as they 
can.” He paused and went on in a hollow voice : — 

“They are racing for the sunset. We may be too late. 
God’s will be done !” Down came another blinding rush of 
driving snow, and the whole landscape was blotted out. It 
soon passed, however, and once more his glasses were fixed 
on the plain. Then came a sudden cry : — 

“Look! Look! Look! See, two horsemen follow fast, 
coming up “from the south. It must be Quincey and John, 
Take the glass. Look, before Jhe snow blots it all out ! I 


Dracula 


374 

took it and looked. The two men might be Dr. Seward and 
Mr. Morris. I knew at all events that neither of them was 
Jonathan. At the same time I knew that Jonathan was not 
far off ; looking around I saw on the north side of the com- 
ing party two otner men, riding at break-neck speed. One of 
them I knew was Jonathan, and the other I took, of course, 
to be Lord Godaiming. They, too, were pursuing the party 
with the cart. When I told the Professor he shouted in glee 
like a schoolboy, and, after looking intently till a snow fall 
made sight impossible, he laid his Winchester rifle ready for 
use against the boulder at the opening of our shelter. “They 
are all converging,” he said. “When the time comes we 
shall have the gypsies on all sides.” I got out my revolver 
ready to hand, for whilst we were speaking the howling of 
wolves came louder and closer. When the snow storm abated 
a moment we looked again. It was strange to see the snow 
falling in such heavy flakes close to us, and beyond, the sun 
shining more and more brightly as it sank down towards the 
far mountain tops. Sweeping the glass all around us I could 
see here and there dots moving singly and in twos and threes 
and larger numbers — the wolves were gathering for their 
prey. 

Every instant seemed an age whilst we waited. The wind 
came now in fierce bursts, and the snow was driven with fury 
as it swept upon us in circling eddies. At times we could 
not see an arm’s length before us ; but at others as the hol- 
low-sounding wind swept by us, it seemed to clear the air- 
space around us so that we could see afar off. We had of 
late been so accustomed to watch for sunrise and sunset, that 
we knew with fair accuracy when it would be ; and we knew 
that before long the sun would set. 

It was hard to believe that by our watches it was less than 
an hour that we waited in that rocky shelter before the va- 
rious bodies began to converge close upon us. The wind 
came now with fiercer and more bitter sweeps, and more 
steadily from the north. It seemingly had driven the snow 
clouds from us, for, with only occasional bursts, the snow 
fell. We could distinguish clearly the individuals of each 
party, the pursued and the pursuers. Strangely enough 
those pursued did not seem to realise, or at least to care, that 
they were pursued; they seemed, however, to hasten with 
redoubled speed as the sun dropped lower and lower on the 
mountain tops. 


Mina Harker’s Journal 37$ 

Closer and closer they drew. The Professor and I crouched 
down behind our rock, and held our weapons ready ; I could 
see that he was determined that they should not pass. One 
and all were quite unaware of our presence. 

All at once two voices shouted out to : “Halt!” One was 
my Jonathan’s, raised in a high key of passion; the other 
Mr. Morris’ strong resolute tone of quiet command. The 
gypsies may not have known the language, but there was no 
mistaking the tone, in whatever tongue the words were 
spoken. . Instinctively they reined in, and at the instant Lord 
Godaiming and Jonathan dashed up at one side and Dr. 
Seward and Mr. Morris on the % other. The leader of the gyp- 
sies, a splendid looking fellow who sat his horse like a cen- 
taur, waved them back, and in a fierce voice gave to his com- 
panions some word to proceed. They lashed the horses 
which sprang forward; but the four men raised their Win- 
chester rifles, and in an unmistakable way commanded them 
to stop. At the same moment Dr. Van Helsing and I rose 
behind the rock and pointed our weapons at them. Seeing 
that they were surrounded the men tightened their reins and 
drew up. The leader turned to them and gave a word at 
which every man of the gypsy party drew what weapon he 
carried, knife or pistol, and held himself in readiness to at- 
tack. Issue was joined in an instant. 

The leader, with a quick movement of his rein, threw his 
horse out in front, and pointing first to the sun — now close 
down on the hill tops — and then to the castle, said something 
which I did not understand. For answer, all four men of our 
party threw themselves from their horses and dashed to- 
wards the cart. I should have felt terrible fear at seeing 
Jonathan in such danger, but that the ardour of battle must 
have been upon me as well as the rest of them ; I felt no fear, 
but only a wild, surging desire to do something. Seeing the 
quick movement of our parties, the leader of the gypsies 
gave a command ; his men instantly formed round the cart 
in a sort of undisciplined endeavour, each one shouldering 
and pushing the other in his eagerness to carry out the or- 
der. 

In the midst of this I *could see that Jonathan on one side 
of the ring of men, and Quincey on the other, were forcing a 
way to the cart ; it was evident that they were bent on finish- 
ing their task before the sun should set. Nothing seemed 
to stop or even to hinder them. Neither the levelled weapons 


Dracula 


3 7 6 

or the flashing knives of the gypsies in front, or the howling 
of the wolves behind, appeared to even attract their atten- 
tion. Jonathan’s impetuosity, and the manifest singleness 
of his purpose, seemed to overawe those in front of him ; in- 
stinctively they cowered aside and let him pass. In an in- 
stant he had jumped upon the cart, and, with a strength 
which seemed incredible, raised the great box, and flung it 
over the wheel to the ground. In the meantime, Mr. Morris 
had had to use force to pass through his side of the ring of 
Szgany. All the time I had been breathlessly watching Jona< 
than I had, with the tail of my eye, seen him pressing desper- 
ately forward, and had seen the knives of the gypsies flash 
as he won a way through them, and they cut at him. He had 
parried with his great bowie knife, and at first I thought that 
he too had come through in safety ; but as he sprang beside 
Jonathan, who had by now jumped from the cart, I could 
see that with his left hand he was clutching at his side, and 
that the blood was spurting through his fingers. He did not 
delay notwithstanding this, for as Jonathan with desperate 
energy, attacked one end of the chest, attempting to prize off 
the lid with his great Kukri knife, he attacked the other fran- 
tically with his bowie. Under the efforts of both men the lid 
began to yield ; the nails drew with a quick screeching sound, 
and the top of the box was thrown back. 

By this time the gypsies, seeing themselves covered by the 
Winchesters, and at the mercy of Lord Godaiming and Dr. 
Seward, had given in and made no further resistance. The 
sun was almost down on the mountain tops, and the shadows 
of the whole group fell long upon the snow. I saw the Count 
lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude 
falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was deathlv 
pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with 
the horrible vindictive look which I knew too well. 

As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of 
hate in them turned to triumph. 

But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's 
great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat ; 
whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris’s bowie knife plunged 
into the heart. 

It was like a miracle ; but before our very eyes, and almost 
in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into 
dust and passed from our sight. 

I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of 


Mina Harker’s Journal 377 

Anal dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as 
I never could have imagined might have rested there. 

The Castle of Dracula now stood out against the red sky, 
and every stone of its broken battlements was articulated 
against the light of the setting sun. 

The gypsies, taking us as in some way the cause of the ex- 
traordinary disappearance of the dead man, turned, without 
a word, and rode away as if for their lives. Those who were 
unmounted jumped upon the leiter- wagon and shouted to 
the horsemen not to desert them. The wolves, which had 
withdrawn to a safe distance, followed in their wake, leaving 
us alone. 

Mr. Morris, who had sunk to the ground, leaned on his 
elbow, holding his hand pressed to his side; the blood still 
gushed through his fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy 
circle did not now keep me back; so did the two doctors. 
Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man laid back 
his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a feeble 
effort, my hand in that of his own which was unstained. He 
must have seen the anguish of my heart in my face, for he 
6miled at me and said : — 

“I am only too happy to have been of any service! Oh, 
God !” he cried suddenly, struggling up to a sitting posture 
and pointing to me, “It was worth for this to die! Look! 
look!” 

The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and 
the red gleams fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in 
rosy light. With one impulse the men sank on their knees 
and a deep and earnest “Amen” broke from all as their eyes 
followed the pointing of his finger. The dying man spoke : — 

“Now God be thanked that all has not been in vain ! See ! 
the snow is not more stainless than her forehead ! The curse 
has passed away !” 

And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he 
died, a gallant gentleman. 


378 


Dracula 


NOTE. 

Seven years ago we all went through the flames ; and the 
happiness of some of us since then is, we think, well worth 
the pain we endured. It is an added joy to Mina and to me 
that our boy’s birthday is the same day as that on which 
Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I know, the secret 
belief that some of our brave friend’s spirit has passed into 
him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men 
together; but we call him Quincey. 

In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transyl- 
vania, and went over the old ground which was, and is, to us 
so full of vivid and terrible memories. It was almost impos- 
sible to believe that the things which we had seen with our 
own eyes and heard with our own ears were living truths. 
Every trace of all that had been was blotted out. The castle 
stood as before, reared high above a waste of desolation. 

When we got home we were talking of the old time — which 
we could all look back on without despair, for Godaiming 
and Seward are both happily married. I took the papers 
from the safe where they had been ever since our return so 
long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the mass 
of material of which the record is composed, there is hardlv 
one authentic document; nothing but a mass of type-writing, 
except the later note-books of Mina and Seward and my- 
self, and Van Helsing’s memorandum. We could hardly 
ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs 
of so wild a story. Van Heising summed it all up as he said, 
with our boy on his knee : — 

“We want no proofs ; we ask none to believe us ! This boy 
will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his 
mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving 
care; later on he will understand how some men so loved 
her, that they did dare much for her sake.” 

Jonathan Harker. 


the ENa 


/ 











. 

































































































• • 



























- 
















' 

























3 S 78 












19 93 
































































*, 'O-. rP s *« 1 

,* w ,aA .V rt^>/V7'7-y 1 T 

a* *» i^\[/%^ * *7 * 

• r OV « MranSZ/a - "fj 
’ .O-A 

♦* 0 * ^ 



*3 N0 5 ^ l O rO *V * V » 

" 0? (.'*o»> *«,i»*aO K *»' **T> <s? C* ' 

•x .a »Cy** \ 4 >v* * * *•♦ O 0N0 v ^\t » 0 ° 4 - 


c5>^p ** 

A % ** 


o c^ ** 

z Hpc^ © 




V<V 

5>*r 


k ^ vx oW¥ * <.«P^K • apipr o 

c onc» 4 * L , **ti* 4 * r$* &v 

c _ ** V) A<b> « * Ll *j > A ° * i* «P 0, a a 

,s^W* ° ^ *\*77J’* *4 X V cONc 4 <fv < • • * <V 

rssmtffr * * (£^f//Z^ + V. G .* - *. v-* -v* . 

OV 


; "W° .*’ 

O ^Ox * 


*n»*\sP ^ ^ O *V 

, < 4 ? VaJ > <y +* * °* <1^ 

Vv © Jifi® * 




V< 

a vf\ 


** o 

i cv, ,o~ «s 

P Ta X^> * 

o v _<3 * 

z °tP<P © 



>f^‘*' <c^\ • ISsff « av*> 5 | 11 I§ c 

'*>•.** jf^" ^ '-? vi'.fDsr*’ . 

* . <?.-%&.% ■ • lA-i^XV” • >’ >! 


© 

Ao. * 

fS~ ^ * 

3NO^ ^ A 


^ * o* <P~* s it * 



V o^ V\ V°^ 

XoJ *. V' % vV^fo,^* 

, xt* 

- v«<y . 


%^- I ** ,4 X v 




O ,^\ V 

z © 

o AA a 

* ^V O 

\ ^ ,^\\ 0 °Vr\V * * >%< 

-* _ r A iP^j * 

^ »>^ j?P <k ^ o> o +S%z/lW ? ^ V> 

^“ A,- °‘ *■ 


V W ^ ^ ^ ^ 

<A ^ A«> »«. 55. <* Q 

s’ “ Jpg, * x>^ 

X o 

v* ° ‘V^^sVN'aT ^ u ^> * 




2* * 

» ^ \ \ 
$> jy****** v\ • 

z © ^31^ * V 

Q AA x 

* OA -^A o M/tviur - ^ 

Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. lX 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesiqm Oxide 
Treatment Date: W .o’ 


N 

.«, C 





BARKEEPER 




PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp.. PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 


r* ^ 






HECKMAN |± 

BINDERY INC. fS\ 

DEC 92 






